IC-NRLF 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


AMELIA    JOSEPHINE   BURR 


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IN  DEEP  PLACES 


IN 

DEEP 
PLACES 


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Copyright  1914 
By  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


To    J. 

'O  thou  that  knowest,  turn  and  see — 
'Heart  of  my  heart,  have  I  done  well?" 


333789 


A  number  of  the  poems  in  this  volume  are  here  included 
through  the  courtesy  of  the  publishers  of  the  Century 
Magazine,  Harper's  Monthly,  Scribner's  Magazine,  The 
Bellman,  the  London  Bookman,  the  Nation,  the  Ladies' 
Home  Journal,  Lippincott's,  Harper's  Bazaar,  the  De- 
lineator, and  the  Poetry  Journal,  in  which  magazines  they 
first  appeared. 


CONTENTS 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Jehane     .......     .     .     .     .  i 

Allah  is  With  the  Patient  ......  10 

At  Dendera  ..........  19 

Romeo's  Tomb  .........  23 

Petruchio's  Wife     ........  26 

Rameses  Worships  Rameses  .....  30 

In  the  Roman  Forum  .......  34 

Perugia    ...........  38 

In  Bozen  of  a  Sunday  .......  41 

Anne  Hathaway's  Garden  ......  43 

The  Heart  of  Venice  .......  44 

Queen  Mary  at  Fotheringay  .....  46 

Ludwig  of  Bavaria     .......  48 

A  Lynmouth  Widow  .......  50 

The  Love  of  Woman  .......  52 

A  Wish   ...........  54 

An  Idle  Song     .........  55 

Amorino        ..........  56 

Surprises       ......      ....  58 

In  Deep  Places  .........  59 

His  Song  for  Her  Waking   .....  60 

The  Narrow  Way  ........  62 

The  End  of  It   .      .      .......  64 

A  Miracle     ..........  66 


tH 


CONTENTS 


Page 

The  Toys'  Complaint 67 

The  Forfeit 69 

I  Was  Too  Proud 71 

To  a  Pressed  Rose 72 

In  Memory  of  a  Dumb  Friend  ....  74 

To  a  Child 75 

Aunt  Jane     .           76 

Lie- Awake  Songs 78 

A  Poet 81 

A  Minor  Poet 83 

One  of  Many 84 

Whom  the  Gods  Love 86 

The  Guest 88 

The  Voice  of  the  Unborn 90 

New  Life 93 

The  Standard  Bearer 94 

The  Double  Crowning 95 

Beauty 98 

The  Sacrifice 100 

The  Lame  Child 102 

Gypsy-Heart 104 

The  Vagabond  Grown  Old 106 

Children  of  the  Night 107 

The  Little  People  .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .109 

Here  Stood  a  House in 

The  Cricket  in  the  Path 113 

Three  Women 115 

The  Child  in  Black 118 


CONTENTS 


On  a  Hill-Top  .     .     .     ...     ...  119 

Dawn 122 

The  Hero 125 

Immortal 127 

To  Walter  Scott 130 


I  N 


DEEP 


PLACES 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


i 


JEHANE 

"  And  had  she  come  so  far  for  this  — 
"To  part  at  last  without  a  kiss, 
"  Beside  the  haystack  in  the  floods! " 

Morris. 

N  garments  gray  of  sleety  rain 

The  wind  across  the  sodden  plain 
Went  visibly,  and  through  it  went 
Gray  as  a  gust,  her  slender  form 
Swathed  in  wet  robes,  and  forward  bent 
Against  the  pushing  of  the  storm. 
Stumbling  she  ran,  as  one  far  spent, 
But  the  pale  splendour  of  her  face 
Was  set  as  toward  a  try  sting  place, 
And  there  was  need  of  glances  twain 
Ere  one  could  see  the  lines  of  pain 
Round  lips  grown  patient  ere  their  day, 
And  mark  the  early  white  that  lay 
Like  Lenten  ashes  in  her  hair. 
She  went  with  eyes  that  never  swerved 
Until  at  last  she  halted  where 
The  glazing  pools  had  wellnigh  drowned 
A  heap  of  timbers  that  had  served 
To  prop  a  haystack,  in  years  past. 
She  stretched  her  on  the  icy  ground 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


JEHANE  (continued) 

Sighing  for  sheer  content,  as  one 
Who  wearied  leans  when  day  is  done 
Upon  love's  breast,  and  said  —  / 

At  last  — 

At  last  I  come  to  you,  to  tell 
Of  all  these  years.    If  ill  or  well 
I  did,  judge  you;  and  yet,  somehow, 
I  think  you  will  not  judge  me,  now, 
But  only  stoop  from  God's  right  hand 
And  whisper,  "  Dear,  I  understand." 
Can  they  have  wiped  in  Paradise 
So  well  the  sorrow  from  your  eyes 
That  from  your  heart  is  cleansed  away 
Even  the  shadow  of  that  day 
When  you  and  I,  in  just  this  place, 
Met  death  and  Godmar  face  to  face 
Beside  the  haystack  in  the  floods? 
You  by  the  sword  to  perish,  I 
Later  by  bitter  ways  to  die 
In  Paris  as  a  sorceress 
Unless  .  .  .  but  there  was  no  "  unless  " 
For  me,  who  loved  you  so,  I  knew 
At  such  a  price,  each  breath  you  drew 

[2] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


JEHANE  (continued) 

Would  strangle  you.     I  answered  No. 

I  never  have  forgot  to  miss 

Through  all  these  years,  the  single  kiss 

Denied  our  parting,  long  ago. 

But  then  I  saw  the  end  so  near 

I  thought,  "  Not  long  the  waiting,  Dear, 

"  Until  we  meet !  "  .      .  I  did  not  know. 


w 


HEN  you  were  dead,  he  freed  from  stain 
His   blade,    and    sheathed   it.     Through 

the  rain 

We  rode  toward  Paris.    Wet  and  gray 
Closed  in  the  curtains  of  the  day, 
And  as  we  rode,  I  thought, — "Tonight! 
"  Death  is  a  bridal  flower  of  white, 
"  Mine  for  the  plucking !  "     And  I  swore 
That  you  and  I  should  meet  before 
The  mockery  of  another  dawn. 
Rapt  from  the  flesh  I  rode,  and  ere 
I  woke  to  know  that  we  had  drawn 
Rein  at  an  inn,  Godmar  was  there 
Beside  my  stirrup.     Down  I  slid 
Ere  he  could  touch  me. 

[3] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


JEHANE  (continued) 

"  What  I  did, 

"  You  bade  me  do !  "     I  heard  his  breath 
Catch  like  a  sob.     "  You  still  choose  death, 
"  Jehane?     It  is  not  yet  too  late  — " 
It  seemed  I  was  too  tired  to  hate, 
For  I  felt  nothing.     Pale  and  grim 
I  saw  the  tortured  face  of  him 
An  evil  star  against  the  night, 
And  then  —  it  faded.  .  .  . 

When  the  sight 
Came  back  to  me,  I  lay  in  bed, 
An  old  bent  woman  o'er  my  head 
Crooning  in  mother-wise,  her  face 
Kind  in  the  firelight.     "  Mary's  grace 
"  Be  praised,"  she  cried,  "  you  live  at  length ! 
"  Drink     this,     dear     lady,     mend     your 

strength ! " 

I  turned  away,  but  —    "  Think !  "  she  said ; 
"  A  double  hunger  must  be  fed. 
"  Not  yours  alone  the  need." 

My  heart 

Stopped.     Then  it  strove  to  beat  apart 
My  breast.     With  lips  grown  stiff  and  cold 


[4] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


JEHANE  (continued) 

I  stammered,  "  He  must  not  be  told  — 
"  Godmar  —  as  you  may  hope  for  Heaven !  " 
"  No  whisper,  by  the  Sorrows  Seven!  " 
She  vowed,  and  then  —    "  You  had  not 

known? 
"  Poor  child.  .  .  ." 

I  might  have  been  her  own. 
I  cannot  pray  for  her  by  name  — 
God  knows  her,  though. 

The  morning  came, 
But  now  I  could  not  bear  to  die. 
The  trees  against  a  perfect  sky 
Prickled  with  twigs.     It  seemed  that  I 
Was  part  of  the  awakening  earth 
And  that  to  bring  your  child  to  birth 
Was  all  for  which  myself  was  made. 
I  would  have  trodden  unafraid 
Hell's  deepest,  with  that  end  in  sight. 
Robert  —  the  gates  of  hell  that  night 
Again  stood  open.    I  went  in.  ... 


[5] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


JEHANE  (continued) 


i 


CARED  as  little  for  the  sin 
As  for  the  anguish  and  the  shame. 
It  seemed  my  secret  swept  like  flame 
Body  and  soul,  and  burned  them  clean. 
About  his  castle,  gold  and  green 
The  thickets  kindled,  and  I  said 
Within  my  heart,  "  When  they  grow  red.  .  .  ." 
God  pitied  me;  ere  spring  was  spent 
War  called  to  Godmar,  and  he  went. 
Watched  like  a  prisoner  was  I 
But  strangely  sweet  the  days  went  by 
Until  I  smiled  to  see  at  last 
The  crimson  leaves  come  whirling  past. 
Robert  —  the  rapture  of  that  pain! 

EN  with  the  snows  he  came  again, 
I  had  resolved  what  must  be  done. 
Silent  I  met  him,  with  my  son 
Held  in  my  arms.     He  stopped  astound. 
In  all  the  room  there  was  no  sound 
But  his  hoarse  breathing.     Then  — 

"Jehane  .  .  .  . 
"  I  had  not  thought  of  —  this  .  .  ."  he  said. 

[6] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


JEHANE  (continued) 


w 


ITH  solemn  masses  we  were  wed. 

What  mattered  it  that  Godmar  gave 
The    boy    his    name?    There    were    your 

brave 
Clear  eyes  —  your  brow  — 

I  feared  to  bear 

Godmar  a  child,  lest  he  compare 
The    twain,    when   he    must   needs    have 

known.  .  .  . 

But  years  went  by,  with  yours  alone 
The  pivot  of  our  household  pride. 
He  seemed  the  gallant  heart  that  died 
In  me,  with  you.    And  Godmar  —  strange 
That  simple  happiness  can  change 
A  man  so  much !    Thwarted  desire 
Made  him  a  fiend  —  but  when  the  fire 
Was  left  unchecked,  it  swiftly  burned 
Its  violence  away,  and  turned 
To  comfortable  embers,  fit 
To  warm  a  hearth  where  musing  sit 
Good  placid  folk  whose  youth  is  done. 
While  he  would  talk  of  what  "  our  son  " 
Should  do,  sometime  —  far  far  away 

[7] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


JEHANE  (continued) 

As  through  the  rain,  I  saw  that  day 
When  murdered  at  his  feet  you  lay, 
And  thought,  could  it  be  I  and  he 
Who  sat  at  meat  so  quietly, 
Your  boy  between  us! 

Years  that  seem, 
Now  they  are  over,  like  a  dream 
I  am  too  weary  to  recall.  .  .  . 
The  night  he  died,  I  told  him  all. 
One  heavy  tear  slid  down  his  cheek. 
He  fought  for  breath  awhile,  then,  weak 
But  clear,  he  spoke  —     "  My  heir  .  .  .  the 

same.  .  .  ." 

No  more.     And  so  to  Godmar  came 
His  touch  of  greatness  at  the  end. 
I  prayed  for  him  as  for  a  friend. 


OBERT,  it  seems  to  me  to-day 

No  life  is  wholly  thrown  away. 
We  are  the  seedcorn,  you  and  I, 
Dead  in  the  dark,  that  youth  may  pry 
The  clods  asunder  toward  the  sky. 
My  part  is  played,  my  task  is  done. 

[8] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


JEHANE  (continued) 

Life  opens  nobly  to  our  son. 
The  King  has  made  him  knight,  and  he 
Has  now  no  longer  need  of  me  — 
Man  as  he  is,  and  true,  and  strong.  .  .  . 
The  kiss  that  I  have  kept  so  long, — 
It  seems  that  all  my  life  has  passed 
Into  that  kiss  .  .  .  and  now  ...  at  last, 
Beloved  .  .  .  now.  .  .  . 

A  sigh,  and  then 
No  other  sound.    So  still  she  lay 
The  hailstones  on  her  mantle  gray 
Deepened  to  little  drifts  like  snow. 
This  was  the  way  they  met  again 
Where  they  had  parted,  long  ago. 


[9] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ALLAH  IS  WITH  THE  PATIENT 

A  LLAH  is  with  the  patient.     Long  ago 

I  sat  with  eyes  and  thoughts  that  wan- 
dered far 

And  heard  as  in  a  dream  my  father's  voice 
Speaking  to  me  as  now  I  speak  to  thee, 
Who  heedest  little  as  I  heeded  him. 
What  place  had  patience  in  a  young  man's 

heart? 

The  sky  was  languid  with  the  sunset  glow, 
The  sweet  air  swooned  with  purple  mys- 
teries,— 

Was  it  an  hour  for  aught  but  eagerness 
As  women  passed  on  slender  tinkling  feet, 
Flashing  like  jewelled  beetles  from  the  dusk, 
And  vanishing  again,  yet  leaving  clear 
A  trail  of  perfume  on  the  evening  air 
That  drew  a  man  to  follow?     Who  was  I 
To  squat  with  gray-beards  by  the  waning 
fire? 

[10] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ALLAH  IS  WITH  THE  PATIENT  (continued) 

Well  I  remember  how  the  challenge  came 
Of  jasmine  scent  from  wayward  garments 

blown 

And  how  I  leapt  to  meet  it!     As  I  went, 
I  heard  my  father  sighing  in  his  beard, 
"Allah    is    with   the    patient."     But    there 

comes 

An  end  to  eagerness.     I  had  not  thought 
I  could  grow  weary  of  enkindling  eyes, 
Slight  luring  limbs,  and  fingers  trained  to 

beat 

The  song  of  passion  on  the  hearts  of  men 
As  on  a  darabukkeh.     But  there  came 
A  night  when  I  grew  sick  of  jasmine  scent 
As  of  the  scent  of  fever,  and  the  sight 
Of  smiling  lips  moist-parted  left  me  cold  — 
A  night  when  walls  closed  like  a  trap  on  me, 
And  like  a  grave-stone  lay  upon  my  head 
The  shadow  of  the  roof.     So  I  went  out 
Under  the  calm  illimitable  sky, 
Under  the  quiet  scrutiny  of  stars 
That  stood  apart  like  spirits,  and  looked  on, 
And  as  I  felt  the  sweep  of  desert  wind 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


ALLAH  IS  WITH  THE  PATIENT  (continued) 

Upon  my  face,  I  raised  my  voice  and  sang. 
"  Wise  with  much  seeing  are  the  eyes  of 

night. 

"  What  can  amaze,  what  sicken,  what  delight 
"The  passionless  cold  vigil  of  the  stars? 
"  Too  much  has  been  for  any  more  to  be 
"That     can    dismay     their    far    tranquil- 
lity. .  .  ." 


i 


DID  not  sing  the  ending  of  the  song, 

"  Thine  eyes  are  like  the  stars,  O  heart  of 

me  — 
"  Like    the    unmoved     omniscience     of    the 

stars.  .  .  ." 

I  could  not  sing  those  words ;  the  eyes  I  knew 
Smouldered   like   perfumed  braziers   near  to 

earth, 

Or  like  the  homely  embers  that  make  warm 
The  cooking-pot.     "  Perchance  in  Paradise," 
I  thought,  "  the  houris  that  are  Allah's  glance 
"  Of  favour  on  the  faithful,  have  those  eyes 
"  Of  wise  and  starry  calm.     I  will  await 

[12] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ALLAH  IS  WITH  THE  PATIENT  (continued) 

"The  gaze  of  them."     And  as  there  came  to 

me 

A  sudden  memory  of  my  father's  words, 
I  flung  them  like  a  challenge  to  the  stars  — 
"Allah     is     with     the     patient!"     I     was 

young.  .  .  . 


T 


HE  hand  of  power  on  our  village  closed, 
For  there  was  war;   and  many  of  the 

youths 

Went  full  of  heaviness,  with  backward  eyes. 
It  was  not  so  with  me ;  gladly  I  strode 
As  to  a  feast,  and  bright  upon  me  shone 
The  lifted  brows  of  peril  —  but  I  found 
Small  glory  in  that  war ;  of  hunger  much, 
And  much  of  weariness  and  aching  limbs, 
Much  of  the  lurking  death  we  could  not  see 
That  trod  our  shadows,  striking  from  be- 
hind— 

The  sudden  bullet  singing  from  the  waste 
Was  our  mean  death-chant,  not  the  gener- 
ous cry 

[13] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


ALLAH  IS  WITH  THE  PATIENT  (continued) 

Of    clanging    steel;    it    seemed    we    never 

ceased 

Panting  across  interminable  sands 
Down  into  troughs  that,  sneering,  the  mir- 
age 

Painted  with  blue  like  sky-reflecting  pools, 
Up  over  ridges  where  the  sand  slid  back, 
Drowning  the  print  the  lifted  foot  had  left, 
Sweating  we  laboured ;  always  as  it  seemed 
We  came  too  late  for  glory.  Other  swords 
In  hostile  blood  found  easing  of  their  thirst, 
And  other  eyes  with  pride  of  battle 

burned, — 
Not  ours,  that  strained  too  often  toward  the 

blue 

That  mocked  us  in  the  hollows  of  the  sand 
Looked  dull  upon  a  pool  that  was  no  lie, 
As  when  we  knew  that  we  were  free  to  seek 
Our  homes  again,  and  that  the  war  was 

done 

And  victory  was  ours,  that  "  victory  " 
Left  us  but  listless,  for  its  sound  was  flat 
Like  a  cracked  cymbal.     Once  again  I  said 

[14] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ALLAH  IS  WITH  THE  PATIENT  (continued) 

"  Allah  is  with  the  patient !  "  and  a  man 
Who  heard  it,  laughed.     His  laugh  was  ill 

to  hear, 

But  lo,  his  eyes  gave  back  my  face  to  me, 
And  my  own  smile  was  bitterer  than  his. 
But  softly  spoke  another,  "  Dost  thou  laugh, 
"Brother?     It    is    no   jest  —  the    word    is 

true  — 

"Allah  is  with  the  patient.    Blessed  be 
"  His  name  to  all  the  ages."    "  It  is  well 
"  For  thee  to  speak,  perchance,"  the  laugh- 
er said. 

"  Thou  goest  gladly  to  a  waiting  home ; 
"What  dost  thou  care  for  glory?    But  for 

me 

"  A  woman  waits  who  will  but  spit  on  me 
"  Since  I  have  won  no  fame  to  honour  her." 
"  And  I,"  then  cried  myself,  "  for  me  there 

waits 

"  No  woman  anywhere ;  my  only  hope 
"  Was  glory  for  the  glory's  sake,  and  now, 

Cheated  of  that,  I  am  a  dupe  indeed." 
*  Nay,"  said  our  comrade  gently,  and  I  saw 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


ALLAH  IS  WITH  THE  PATIENT  (continued) 

A  little  pulse  that  quivered  in  his  cheek, 
"For  me  there  waits  no  woman.     She  is 

dead, 

"  And  on  her  breast  the  babe  I  never  saw 
"  Is  also  dead.    I  had  no  will  to  go  — 
"The   soldiers  took   me.    Blessed  be   the 

name 
"  Of  Allah—"     "And  you  still  can  say,"  I 

cried, 
"That  he  is  with  the  patient?"    Then  he 

turned 

The  slow  majestic  sadness  of  his  look 
Full  upon  me.     "  Were  it  not  so,"  he  said, 
"Would  they  not  be  more  lonely  than  the 

stars?  " 

He  went  away,  and  left  us  there  afraid  — 
And  yet  he  was  a  little  man,  and  weak. 
Humbler   I   turned   me   homeward,   for   I 

knew 

There  was  a  thing  I  had  not  understood. 
When  to  the  village  I  came  back  at  last, 
There  were  no  songs  for  me.     I  looked  for 

none. 


[16] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


ALLAH  IS  WITH  THE  PATIENT  (continued) 

Only  my  father  met  me  at  the  door 
And  peered  into  my  face,  for  he  was  old 
And  saw  but  little  —  yet  he  saw  enough 
To  make  him  smile.     "  It  is  my  son,"  he 

said, 

"  He  has  come  back  to  me  a  man  at  last  — 
"  Allah  is  with  the  patient." 

So  I  stayed 

Quiet  among  my  people,  and  I  ploughed 
My  father's  feddans,  and  the  days  went 

by. 

I  wedded  and  was  faithful  —  if  at  times 
Dreams  drew  me  forth  alone  beneath  the 

stars, 

She  found  me  no  less  kindly  for  the  dreams. 
Then  thou  wert  born,  and  when  I  looked  on 

thee 

As  full  of  pride  she  laid  thee  in  my  arms, 
I  saw  in  thee  those  wise  and  starry  eyes 
Of  lonely  glory  —  and  my  heart  was  glad, 
Finding  my  dream  come  true.  But  with 

the  years 
The  heavenly  wonder  died,  and  in  its  place 

[17] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ALLAH  IS  WITH  THE  PATIENT  (continued) 

The  old  earth-wonder  came.     And  then  I 

thought 
"  Would  he  but  learn  of  me  — "    Ah !  he  is 

gone.  .  .  . 

Each  for  himself  must  turn  the  page  of  life 
And  read   its  wisdom  through   a  blur  of 

tears, 
And  yet  —  might  I  have  made  it  clear  to 

him, 

My  son!     May  Allah,  blessed  be  his  name, 
Allah,  whose  heart  has  yearned  the  ages 

through 

To  every  generation,  as  my  heart 
Yearns  to  my  son, —  may  Allah  give  him 

light. 
Thou  who  art  with  the  patient,  lead  him 

home 
And  give  me  of  thy  patience,  while  I  wait. 


[18] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


H 


AT  DENDERA 

ERE  in  this  narrow  chamber,  where  one  ray 
Quickens  the  jewel-coloured  walls,  I  stand 
Alone,  a  Queen,  to  speak  to  thee,  a  Queen. 
I,  Cleopatra,  lift  my  face  to  meet 
Thy  silent  face,  Hathor,  in  this  thy  house, 
Hither  I  came  through  fields  of  mellow 

green 

Where  prostrate  peasants  lifted  peering  eyes 
To  see  the  Great  Queen's  passing;  labour 

fell 

Stricken  to  silence  at  the  sight  of  me. 
Only  the  patient  saqquias  wailed  on 
As  round  and  round  the  blindfold  bullocks 

trod  — 

And  yet  I  knew  behind  me  they  arose 
Like  trampled  grain,  and  went  about  their 

toil, 

Even  as  my  courtiers  when  my  shadow  falls 
No  more  upon  them,  turn  them  to  their 

sport. 

[19] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


AT  DENDERA  (continued) 

That  world  —  what  has  that  world  to  do 

with  me? 

Here  in  thy  temple,  here  am  I  at  home, 
For  thou  and  I  are  one  at  heart.     To  thee 
Hath  ever  been  my  longing,  though  at  first 
I  knew  it  not.     Earth  was  too  beautiful  — 
I  could  not  see  beyond  —  and  all  of  me 
That  was  of  earth,  cried  out  for  earth's  de- 
light. 

I  was  athirst  for  life,  and  royally 
I  took  what  I  deemed  life  —  ay,  like  a  Queen 
I   crushed  the   grapes   of  mortal  joy   and 

drank 

The  wine  thereof,  and  still  I  was  athirst. 
Again  I  sought  new  vintage,  and  again, 
While  to  my  fingers  clung  the  lees  like  blood. 
Hathor,  thou  Merciless!    I  give  thee  thanks, 
Through  all  those  drunken  days  I  thirsted 

still! 

And  yet  I  was  so  slow  to  understand, 
Nor   knew   that   when    on   passion's   very 

mouth 
I  trembled  and  grew  cold,  it  was  thy  face 

[20] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


AT  DENDERA  (continued) 

That  came  between,  slaying  the  transient  joy 

With  thine  immortal  breath ;  and  so  I  fled 

From  lover  unto  lover,  till  at  last 

I  knew  that  not  in  man  was  my  desire 

Nor  in  the  fruit  of  man.     I  came  to  thee, 

Hathor,  at  last,  as  now  I  come  to  thee. 

It  is  enough  that  I  am  beautiful 

For  Beauty's  sake  —  I  ask  not  that  men's 

eyes 

Caress  my  loveliness,  nor  that  a  child 
Should  bear  it  like  a  banner  down  the  years. 
Enough  for  me  that  I  myself  have  lived 
And  looked  upon  thy  face  of  mystery, 
Thou  Gladness  of  the  gods.  ...  I  am  con- 
tent. 
Have  I  not  proved  what  earth-bound  hearts 

call  joy? 
Love  .  .  .  what  is  love?    Have  I  not  known 

desire, — 
Yea,  have  I  not  brought  forth  a  son?    And 

yet 

My  heart  was  still  athirst.    Thou  knowest, 
thou, 

[21] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


AT  DENDERA  (continued) 

Smiling  that  still  wise  smile  of  thine.    Thou 

too 

Hast  borne  a  Horus,  yet  we  worship  thee 
Not  babe  at  breast,  like  Isis,  but  alone, 
Mateless,  unconquerable, —  there  is  not  one 
Of  all  the  gods  may  dare  to  call  thee  his, 
Mistress  of  whom  thou  wilt,  but  slave  of 

none. 
Therefore,  since  thou  hast  shown  to  me  thy 

way, 

Free  as  the  desert  wind,  I  lift  to  thee 
My  hands,  and  in  them,  Egypt.     Unto  thee 
Will  I  raise  up  a  temple,  fairer  far 
Than  even  this;  to  thee  will  I  raise  up 
Myself  in  perfect  beauty,  perfect  power, 
My  foot  upon  the  weakness  of  mankind, 
Spurning  it  while  it  lifts  me.     Men  shall  see 
Hathor  in  Cleopatra,  and  bow  down 
Smitten  to  worship  that  shall  know  no  end, 
Yea,    even    Rome!    Thou    seest  .  .  .  and 

shalt  see. 


A 


ND  nearing  cloudlike  o'er  the  lower  blue, 
Antony's  galley  swelled  her  amber  sails. 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


A 


AT  ROMEO'S  TOMB 

Y,  gentle  stranger,  here  lies  Romeo. 
Thou   art   no   Veronese  .  .  .  from   Flor- 
ence?   What, 

Speak  they  of  Romeo  so  far  away? 
Tell  me,  my  son,  what  do  they  say  of  him? 
"  The  king  of  lovers  —  and  a  noble  heart 
"  Unwilling  to  brook  life   when  love   was 

gone  — " 
Are  they  not  young  who  say  it  —  mates  of 

thine? 

So  many  words  that  blossom  fulsome  sweet 
Ripen  to  bitter  fruit  as  men  grow  old  — 
I  would  not  have  you  think  of  Romeo  thus. 
His  death  was  noble?     Nay  —  it  was  but 

young. 

No  friend  of  his?     I  was  his  nearest  friend, 
Even  more  privy  to  his  inmost  mind 
Than  was  Mercutio's  self,  I  dare  to  say, 
And  therefore  I  would  have  thee  think  of  him 

[23] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


AT  ROMEO'S  TOMB  (continued) 

Thoughts  that  shall  change  only  toward  ten- 
derness 

As  the  blood  cools  and  slackens  in  its  race 
And  less  of  life  lies  in  a  woman's  hand. 
Judge  not  my  Romeo  as  a  man  is  judged.  .  .  . 
Hadst  thou  but  seen  him  when  he  came  to 

me! 
(He  knew  that  I  would  shelter  him,  poor 

child, 

Though  he  had  laid  a  score  of  Tybalts  cold) 
We    heard    Verona    roaring    through    the 

streets 

Louder  than  floods  in  spring.     The  memory 
After  so  long,  is  pitiful  to  tears  — 
His  heart  was  fluttering  like  the  candle-flame 
Before  the  altar,  on  a  windy  day. 
Romeo  a  man  ?    No,  no  —  he  was  a  child, 
A  slender,  scarcely-budded  slip  of  spring, 
The  calyx-bursting  promise  of  a  rose 
Flung  to  the  foamy  rage  of  Adige 
And  beaten  down  the  rapids  to  its  doom  — 
A  blade  untempered,  broken  ere  its  time 
In  the  great  battle  —  oh,  a  child,  a  child 

[24] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


AT  ROMEO'S  TOMB  (continued) 

Caught  in  the  millstones  that  grind  up  men's 

hearts 

To  be  the  bread  of  centuries  unborn. 
Dreaming,  he  was  enamoured  of  a  dream, 
And  from  the  drowsy  wonder  of  his  eyes 
Rubbed  life  like  sleep  away ;  so  burst  on  him 
The  blinding  day  of  immortality.  .  .  . 
On  him,  who  was  not  yet  awake  to  earth ! 
How  like  a  child  astray  he  must  have  stared 
Upon  the  pitying  angels ! 

Juliet? 

Ay,  call  her  woman  if  thou  wilt,  for  she 
Can  bear  thy  judgment;  but  for  Romeo  — 
Pray  thou  for  him  to-night  as  for  a  child. 
My  name  ?    'Tis  Laurence. 

Peace  to  thee,  my  son. 


[25] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


PETRUCHIO'S  WIFE 

A  Y>  go  your  ways,  my  lord.     Look  where  he 

i*^        struts 

And  ruffles  it  along  the  sunny  street ! 
His  doublet's  broken  at  the  seam  again  — 
I'll  look  to  it  when  he  comes  home.    He's 

worse 

Than  any  wanton  youngling  on  his  gear. 
A  gallant  bearing  —  he  is  well  worth  ten 
Of  my  fair  sister's  pretty  mummer.    Bah ! 
Playing  the  schoolmaster  to  win  a  bride 
He  might  have  had  by  knocking  at  the  door 
And  shaking  a  fat  purse !    Petruchio 
Measures  more  nearly  to  a  man's  degree ; 
Yet  he  is  but  a  boy,  an  o'er-grown  boy. 
Was  ever  man  so  easily  deceived? 
What,  did  he  think  that  he  could  master  me 
By  wearying  my  body,  starving  it, 
Shaming  it  with  vile  raiment?    Bless  the 

fool! 
And  yet  I  swear  I  did  not  bless  him  then  — 

[26] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


PETRUCHIO'S  WIFE  (continued) 

I  could  have  slain  him  rather;  but  I  thought, 
"  Kate,  thou  art  married;  make  the  best  of  it. 
"  Thou  hadst  been  wiser  to  lead  apes  in  hell, 
"  But  since  thy  cup  of  folly  has  been  poured, 
"  Drink  it  off  smiling.    He  shall  pay  anon." 
There  at  Bianca's  feast,  when  he  would  show 
His  power  so  braggartly,  I  had  well-nigh 
Defied  him  to  his  face, —  but  I  recalled 
Hortensio's  fine  madam,  and  her  taunt. 
"  What  other  way  to  sting  so  well,"  thought 

I, 
"As    show    myself    the    model,    her    the 

shrew?  " 

Eh,  did  I  sweetly  play  the  pattern  wife? 
Ask  of  Petruchio's  purse,  where  merrily 
His     fellow-bridegroom's     golden     forfeits 

clinked  — 

(Until  he  spent  the  better  part  of  them 
"  Upon  a  cap  richer  an  hundredfold 
Than  that  I  spurned  to  please  him!)     Am  I 

tamed? 
Thus  much,  perhaps  .  .  .  that  now  I  play 

my  part 

[27] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


PETRUCHIO'S  WIFE  (continued) 

Not  bitterly,  but  laughing  in  a  sleeve 
Which  now  is  fashioned  to  my  own  desire, 
I  praying  his  approval ;  and  instead 
Of  anger  at  his  boastful  boyishness 
Is  something,  neither  pity  nor  yet  love  — 
The  child  of  both,  perchance. 

I  used  to  think 

That  when  I  held  the  larder  keys,  himself 
Should  fast  some  day,  to  pay  that  fast  of 

mine. 

But  when  the  time  came,  I  no  longer  cared 
For  little  vengeance  on  a  little  wrong. 
And  so  I  feed  him  well,  and  speak  him  fair, 
And  keep  him  bravely  clad,  and  when  he 

meets 
His   friends,   he   vaunts   the   merits   of   his 

wife, 
While    they    all    marvel    at    the    mastered 

shrew ! 
Look  —  he  comes  home  —  he's  never  long 

away. 

How  boyish-gay  he  waves  an  eager  hand, 
Seeing  me  waiting  at  the  window  here ! 

[a8] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


PETRUCHIO'S  WIFE  (continued) 

God  rest  thee  merry,  good  Petruchio ; 
How  I  could  love  thee  .  .  .  wert  thou  more 
a  man! 

My  excellent  dear  lord!    Art  thou  returned? 
Then  is  the  day  grown  bright  for  Katharine! 


[29] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


RAMESES  WORSHIPS  RAMESES  AT 
ABU  SIMBEL 


o 


F  all  the  gods  I  understand  thee  least, 

Thou  god  whose  altar  is  the  heart  of  me ; 
Therefore  I  leave  the  Others  to  the  priest 
While  I  myself  do  reverence  to  thee. 
Avails    my    worship    aught?    The    incense 

mounts 

In  silent  exhalation  like  a  prayer 
Made  visible  —  what  sense  of  thine  accounts 
Acceptable     its     fragrance?    Thou     art  — 

where? 

I  call  unto  the  Others,  and  they  hear; 
But   thou  —  I   cannot   tell.     Thou   art   too 

near. 
***** 

'HE  Sun  I  know:  the  lotus-bud  of  dawn 
Through  countless  vigils  have  I  seen  un- 
fold, 
Veil  after  veil  of  green  and  rose  withdrawn 

[30] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


RAMESES  WORSHIPS  RAMESES   (continued) 

Yielding  at  last  the  blinding  heart  of  gold 
To  me  expectant.     I  have  known  the  Sun, 
His  kindness  and  his  wrath,  as  I  have  known 
The  counsellor  who  sits  at  my  right  hand, 
Yet  thou  to  me  art  still  the  Hidden  One. 
The  cold  mysterious  Moon,  pacing  alone 
His   jewelled   house  —  the   restless   golden 

sand 

Forever  changing,  like  another  sea  — 
The  fruitful  River  in  its  majesty, 
Mother  alike  and  father  of  our  land  — 
These  I  can  see,  these  I  can  understand. 

What  veil  impenetrable  shelters  Thee? 
*  *  *  *  * 

HE  Judges  of  the  darkness  and  the  dead, 
Unhuman  arbiters  of  heaven  and  hell, 
Creatures  whose  face  is  not  the  face  of  man, 
Creatures  whose  power  of  life  and  death 

began 
With  life  and  death,  and  shall  with  them  be 

sped^— 
Unseen,  I  know  them;  yea,  I  know  them 

well. 


T 


[31] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


RAMESES  WORSHIPS  RAMESES   (continued) 

I  call  them  each  by  name  .  .  .  but  thou 

Unknown, 
What  name  have  I  to  call  thee  save  mine 

own? 
***** 


M 


INE  own  —  and  yet  I  know  thou  art  not  I. 
Here  in  this  temple  have  I  honoured  thee 
Where  by  the  River,  carven  giant-high, 
My  fourfold  image,  eloquently  dumb, 
Sits  dominating  centuries  to  come. 
I  say  it  is  thine  Image  —  do  I  lie? 


A  CROSS  my  proudest  moments  I  have  heard 
•*  ^    Thy   terrible    hushed   laughter;    stranger 

still  — 

Sometimes  amid  the  battle,  as  I  fought 
With  a  god's  fury,  plain  as  spoken  word 
Thy  patient  weary  sigh  revealed  to  me 
My  rage  as  futile  as  the  prize  I  sought. 
And  often  when  my  courage  has  been  chill 
With  inward  questioning,  my  languor  caught 
Fire  of  a  sudden  from  thy  smile  unseen. 

[33] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


RAMESES  WORSHIPS  RAMESES   (continued) 

Again,  when  some  flushed  vision  swift  and 
keen 

Struck  music  from  my  fancy,  as  the  sun 

From  Memnon,  came  thy  calm,  unuttered 
scorn  — 

"  So     many     lessons  —  dullard,     still     un- 
taught?" 
*  *  *  *  * 

kHOU  art  a  god,  and  I  am  but  a  king. 

The  people  hail  me  god,  and  oft  a  glow 
Responsive   thrills  me,  till  thy  thought  I 

know  — 

"  Thou  simple  fool,  thou  perishable  thing, 
"Tis  I  they  worship  —  thou  art  but  the 

shrine." 
Nay,  I  am  more  —  else  could  I  know  thee 

there? 

I  know  that  in  some  sort  I  am  divine. 
Yea,  this  I  know  —  and  yet   I   know  not 

how  — 

When  the  last  mystery  to  me  is  bare, 
The  underworld  shall  show  me  on  thy  brow 
The  final  beauty  Death  has  wrought  on  mine. 

[33] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


IN  THE  ROMAN  FORUM 

^TOTHING  but  beauty,  now. 

No  longer  at  the  point  of  goading  fear 
The  sullen,  tributary  world  comes  near 
Before  all-subjugating  Rome  to  bow. 
No  more  the  pavement  of  the  Forum  rings 
To  breathless  victory's  exultant  tread 
Before  the  heavy  march  of  captive  kings. 
Here  stood  the  royal  dead 
In  sculptured  immortality,  their  gaze 
Remote  above  the  turmoil  of  the  street 
Hoarse  with  its  living  struggle  at  their  feet. 
Here  spoke  the  law  —  that  voice  of  bronze 

was  heard 

By  all  the  world,  and  stirred 
The  latent  mind  of  nations  in  the  bud. 
Bright   with   the   laurels,   bitter   with   the 

blood 

Of  heroes  upon  heroes  was  this  place 
Where  the  strong  heart  of  an  imperial  race 

[34] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


IN  THE  ROMAN  FORUM  (continued) 

Beat  with  the  essence  of  a  nation's  life. 
Princes  and  people  evermore  at  strife  — 
Incense  and  worship  —  clash  of  armoured 

rage  — 

Ambition  soaring  up  the  sky  like  flame  — 
Interminable  war  that  mortals  wage 
From  century  to  century  the  same. 
Still  Fortune  holds  the  crown  for  those  who 

dare; 

Mankind  in  many  a  distant  otherwhere 
Leaps  panting  toward  the  promise  of  her 

face  — 

But  here,  no  more  of  coveting  nor  care. 
No  longer  here  the  weltering  human  tide 
Sluices  the  market-place  and  scatters  wide 
The  weak  as  foam,  to  perish  where  they 

list. 

Now  by  the  sovereign  Silence  purified 
Spring  showers  all  with  fragrant  amethyst. 
Were  once  these  pulses  violent  and  swift 
As  those  that  shake  the  cities  of  to-day? 
How  indolently  sweet  the  petals  drift 
From  yonder  nodding  spray! 

[35] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


IN  THE  ROMAN  FORUM  (continued) 

Warming  their  broidered  raiment  in  the  sun 
The  little  bright-eyed  lizards  bask  and  run 
O'er  fallen  temples  gracious  in  decay. 
Man's  arrogance  with  calculated  art 
Boasted  in  marble  —  now  the  quiet  heart 
Of  the  Great  Mother  dreams  eternal  things 
In  brief  bright  roses  and  ethereal  green, 
Or  more  exuberant,  sings 
In  poppies  poured  profusely  to  the  air 
From   secret   hoards    of   scarlet.     Nothing 

seen 

But   swoons  with  beauty  —  beauty  every- 
where — 

Nothing  but  beauty  .  .  .  now. 
Here  is  the  immortality  of  Rome. 
Not  where  the  city  rises,  dome  on  dome, 
Seek  we  the  living  soul  of  ancient  might, 
But  in  this  temple  of  green  silence  —  here 
Flame  purer  than  the  vestal  is  alight. 
The  world  again  draws  near 
In  reverence,  but  now  it  comes  to  pay 
The  tribute  of  a  nobler  coin  than  fear. 
In  wondering  worship,  not  in  fierce  dismay, 

[36] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


IN  THE  ROMAN  FORUM  (continued) 

Men  bow  the  knee  to  what  of  Rome  re- 
mains. 
Time's    long    lustration    has    effaced    her 

stains. 

All  that  is  perishable  now  is  past 
And  earth  her  portion  tenderly  transmutes 
To  evanescent  beauty  of  her  own, 
Jubilant  flowers  and  nectar-breathing  fruits, 
Leaving  in  deathless  glory  at  the  last 
Divinity  alone. 


[37] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


PERUGIA 

T7OR  the  sake  of  a  weathered  gray  city  set  high 
on  a  hill 

To  the  northward  I  go, 

Where  Umbria's  valley  lies  mile  upon  emer- 
ald mile 

Outspread  like  a  chart. 

The  wind  in  her  steep  narrow  streets  is  eter- 
nally chill 

From  the  neighbouring  snow, 

But  linger  who  will  in  the  lure  of  a  southerly 
smile, 

Here  is  my  heart. 

\T7ROUGHT  to  a  mutual  blueness  are  moun- 
tains and  sky; 

Intermingling  they  meet. 

Little  gray  breathings  of  olive  arise  from 
the  plain 

Like  sighs  that  are  seen, 

[38] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


PERUGIA  (continued) 

For  -man  and  his  maker  harmonious  toil, 

and  the  sigh 
Of  such  labour  is  sweet, 
And  the  fruits  of  their  patience  are  vistas 

of  vineyards  and  grain 
In  a  glory  of  green. 


wind  from  the  valley  that  passes  the 

casement  but  flings 
Invisible  flowers. 
The  carol  of  birds  is  a  gossamer  tissue  of 

gold 

On  a  background  of  bells. 
Sweetest  of  all  in  the  silence  the  nightingale 

sings 

Through  the  silver-pure  hours, 
Till  the  stars  disappear  like  a  dream  that 

may  never  be  told, 
That  the  dawning  dispels. 


[39] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


PERUGIA  (continued) 


M 


so  darkling  an  alley  but  opens  at  last 
On  unlimited  space, 
Each  gate  is  the  frame  of  a  vision  that 

stretches  away 
To  the  rims  of  the  sky. 
Never  a  scar  that  was  left  by  the  pitiless 

past 

But  has  taken  a  grace 
Like  the  mark  of  a  smile  that  was  turned 

upon  children  at  play 
In  a  summer  gone  by. 

ANY  the  tyrants,  my  city,  that  held  thee  in 

thrall. 

What  remains  of  them  now? 
Names    whispered    back    from    the    dark 

through  a  portal  ajar  — 
They  come  not  again. 
By  men  thou  wert  made  and  wert  marred, 

but  outlasting  them  all 
Is  the  soul  that  is  thou  — 
A  soul  that  shall  speak  to  my  soul  till  I  too 

pass  afar, 
And  perchance,  even  then. 

[40] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


IN  BOZEN  OF  A  SUNDAY 

TN  Bozen  of  a  Sunday,  the  air  is  gay  with  chim- 
ing; 

In  the  valley  full  of  belfries,  every  clapper  is 
aswing; 

Bell-song  and  bird-song,  each  with  each  is 
rhyming 

In  Bozen  of  a  Sunday,  when  the  hills  are  glad 
with  Spring. 

TN  Bozen  of  a  Sunday,  between  the  walls  of 

roses 
That  border  merry  Talfer  with  many-coloured 

sweet, 

Children  are  gayer  and  sweeter  than  the  posies, 
And  they  drown  the  river's  chatter  with  the 

patter  of  their  feet. 


[41] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


IN*  DOZEN  OF  A  SUNDAY   (continued) 


'T^HE  boys  and  girls  go  walking,  when  Ro- 

sengarten's  flushing. 
Her  eyes  are  on  the  mountain-peaks,  but 

little  does  he  care 
For  blush  of  the  hills,  when  he  sees  his 

sweetheart  blushing, 
Or  for  sunset  on  the  snows,  when  he  can 

see  it  on  her  hair. 


little  feet,  play-  weary,  stumble  home- 

ward all  around  them, 
For  a  chill  steals  down  the  valley  as  the 

gold  to  silver  gleams. 
Shy  cling  their  hands,  as  a  touch  unseen 

had  bound  them, 
And  his  eyes  are  full  of  tenderness,  and  hers 

are  full  of  dreams  — 
In  Bozen  of  a  Sunday,  when  the  hills  are 

glad  with  Spring. 


[42] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ANNE  HATHAWAY'S  GARDEN 


o 


N  such  a  day  of  quiet  rain 

When  all  the  air  was  gray  and  sweet 
With  unseen  flowers,  and  Spring's  dear  pain 
Of  longing  in  her  pulses  beat 


CHE  may  have  stood  with  arms  outspread 
^    Among  the  box-trees  dripping  spice, 

And  listened  for  his  coming  tread 

As  for  the  harps  of  Paradise. 


w 


E  sigh  for  him  whom  God's  red  spur 

Drove  glorious  up  the  heights  of  tears,- 
But  in  the  valley,  what  of  her, 
And  her  long  aching  outgrown  years? 


[43] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


THE  HEART  OF  VENICE 

TTERE  is  no  song  that  comes  unsought 

Born  of  a  mood  a  breath  may  chill. 
By  labour  was  this  beauty  wrought. 
Not  God  himself  by  sovereign  will 
Could  shape  this  wonder  like  a  hill 
Or  bid  it  rise  like  moon  and  sun. 
Only  through  man  such  works  are  done. 


N 


EED  was  that  men  should  greatly  do 

And  greatly  die,  ere  this  could  be. 
The  blood  of  glory  pulses  through 
This  golden-grounded  imagery. 
The  very  bosom  of  the  sea 
Has  moulded  to  its  ample  grace 
The  pavement  of  this  holy  place, 


[44] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


THE   HEART   OF   VENICE    (continued) 

A  S  might  a  goddess  deign  to  wear 

The  garment  by  her  priesthood  made. 
The  opulent  shadows  tame  the  air 
That  softly  moves  as  if  it  prayed 
Among  the  lives  of  men,  portrayed 
So  truly,  that  to-day  we  cry  — 
"  That  is  my  brother  —  that  is  I." 

T  not  immortal  —  is  it  true 
Such  loveliness  can  disappear? 
Some  day  will  see  a  richer  blue 
Upon  the  sea,  and  through  the  clear 
And  sunlit  waters,  glimpses  dear 
Of  beauty  won  at  such  a  cost 
It  never  can  be  wholly  lost. 

/"1TSHE  deep  that  gave  will  take  again  — 
But  this  bright  memory  will  awake 
Ambition  in  the  hearts  of  men 
To  build  new  beauty  for  the  sake 
Of  what  has  vanished,  and  to  make 
Sublimer  temples  of  the  sea. 
If  this  were  immortality? 

[45] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


QUEEN  MARY  AT  FOTHERINGAY 

VI7HAT  have  I  gained  who  gave  so  much? 
A  crown  too  slippery  for  my  clutch  — 
A  body  misused  and  a  heart  abused. 
What  have  I  gained  for  all  I  spent? 
Many  a  dead  man's  curse  to  rue, 
Many  a  lover  and  not  one  true, 
Many  a  bribe,  though  not  my  due  — 
Yet  I  have  lived,  and  am  content. 

O  A  Y  that  I  squandered  life  —  confessed. 

Had  I  been  miser  of  my  best, 
To-day  I  would  be  in  penury 
Even  as  now,  a  fool  betrayed. 
The  crown  of  stars  and  the  nether  flame 
Both  have  I  proved  in  the  teeth  of  blame. 
Have  not  the  years  in  pride  and  shame 
Given  the  worth  of  all  I  paid? 


[46] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


QUEEN  MARY  AT  FOTHERINGAY  (cont.) 


T 


HE  course  I  chose  was  the  course  I  kept; 
In  the  face  of  doom  like  a  flame  I  leapt. 
Bitter  and  sweet  have  I  known  complete  — 
One  adventure  is  left  to  try. 
Life  I  have  finished,  mire  to  throne  — 
Here  at  life's  end  I  stand  alone. 
Headsman,  warder  of  worlds  unknown, 
Show  me  now  what  it  means  to  die ! 


[47] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


LUDWIG  OF  BAVARIA 

T  HAVE  been  set  so  high  above  mankind 

That  all  alone  am  I. 

Above  me  broods,  ruthlessly  dumb  and  blind, 
The  riddle  of  the  sky  — 
The  casket  of  the  Undiscovered  Light 
Whose  vision  makes  divine, 
Hidden  from  lesser  men's  ignoble  sight 
But  destined  to  be  mine. 
For  I  have  risen  to  the  final  snow 
In  solitude  complete, 
And  trodden  all  men  live  and  die  to  know 
Under  my  mounting  feet. 
Alone,  alone  I  seek  with  soul  afire 
The  sacrament  supreme. 
What  anodyne  has  earth  for  my  desire 
Who  famish  for  a  dream? 
Music  is  mine,  and  solitary  splendour, 
White,  sky-encroaching  peaks  — 
But  oh,  the  call  intolerably  tender 

[48] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


LUDWIG  OF  BAVARIA  (continued) 

From  lips  no  mortal  seeks, 
In  lands  the   boldest  wanderer  never  char- 
ted, 

Whose  pinnacles  of  stone 
Inviolate,  whose  valleys  virgin-hearted 
Open  to  me  alone! 

But  I  am  weary,  for  the  time  is  long; 
Why  does  the  dawn  delay? 
Weary  of  even  lightning-leaps  of  song, 
Weary  of  night  and  day, 
For  voices  call  me,  call  me  from  my  sleep 
So  that  I  rest  no  more, 
Like  ripples  from  an  undiscovered  deep 
Upon  a  lonely  shore. 
Bloom  speedily  for  me,  Immortal  Rose, 
My  being  to  fulfil! 

Haste  —  for  the  silent  skies  above  me  close 
Darker  .     .  and  darker  still.  .  .  . 


[49] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


H 


O 


A  LYNMOUTH  WIDOW 

E  was  straight  and  strong,  and  his  eyes 

were  blue 

As  the  summer  meeting  of  sky  and  sea, 
And  the  ruddy  cliffs  had  a  colder  hue 
Than  flushed  his  cheek  when  he  married 

me. 

passed  the  porch  where  the  swallows 

breed, 

We  left  the  little  brown  church  behind, 
And  I  leaned  on  his  arm,  though  I  had  no 

need, 
Only  to  feel  him  so  strong  and  kind. 

NE  thing  I  never  can  quite  forget; 

It  grips  my  throat  when  I  try  to  pray  — 
The  keen  salt  smell  of  a  drying  net 
That  hung  on  the  churchyard  wall  that  day. 

[50] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


A  LYNMOUTH  WIDOW  (continued) 

TTE  would  have  taken  a  long,  long  grave  — 
A   long,   long    grave,    for   he    stood    so 

tall  .  .  . 

Oh  God !  the  crash  of  a  breaking  wave, 
And  the  smell  of  the  nets  on  the  churchyard 
wall! 


IK    DEEP    PLACES 


i 


THE  LOVE  OF  WOMAN 

F  he  should  come  to  me  to-day 

In  the  strong  beauty  of  his  youth, 
Profuse  of  hope  and  rich  in  truth, — 
If  he  should  come  to  me  and  say: 
"  Give  me  your  love !    Of  womankind 
"  On  you  and  you  alone  I  call !  " 
I  could  but  answer,  "  Dear  and  blind, 
"  What  more  is  left  for  my  bestowing? 
"  Without  your  asking  or  your  knowing 
"Have  I  not  given  all?" 


A 


ND  should  he  come  to  me  some  day 

When  withered  listless  leaves  are  blown, 
Where  I  had  waited  long  alone; 
If  he  should  come  to  me  and  say: 
"  Give  me  your  love  for  charity; 
"  My  dreams  are  squandered  everywhere. 
"  My  famished  hopes  fall  dead  from  me 
"  Like  the  dull  harvest  of  the  air. 

[52] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  LOVE  OF  WOMAN  (continued) 

"  I  seek  no  longer  joy,  but  rest  — 
"  Brief  peace  upon  a  kindly  breast 
"  Till  my  tired  heart  is  quiet  clay." 
I  could  but  say,  "  Love,  while  you  live, 
"  My  love  is  neither  mine  to  give 
"  Nor  mine  to  take  away." 


[53] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


i 


A  WISH 

WOULD  that  we  had  won  of  love 
More  than  the  little  coin  thereof, 
And  all  the  rest  had  flung  away 
The  gain  supreme  to  keep ; 
I  would  that  we  might  understand 
All  that  in  Eden  God  first  planned, 
Ere  ever  men  had  learned  to  slay 
Or  women  learned  to  weep. 
But  ah,  that  visions  cannot  last  — 
That  perfect  moments  fade  so  fast, 
And  men  to  pettiness  return 
Who  spoke  with  God  erstwhile! 
I  would  that  we  lay  side  by  side 
And  that  the  curious  moonbeams  pried 
In  vain  at  our  closed  lids  to  learn 
The  secret  of  our  smile. 


[54] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


AN  IDLE  SONG 

T^REE  living,  free  giving,  may  scarce  be  un- 
done. 
What  magic  recaptures  the  rays  of  the  sun? 

They  are  fled,  they  are  sped  to  the  eyelids  of 
men, 

And  the  light  that  is  given,  none  taketh  again. 

Sap  springing,  lark  singing,  and  young  hearts 
afire 

With  the  tender  green  flame  of  an  April  de- 
sire. 

It  may  die,  it  may  lie  like  brown  reeds  in  the 
fen, 

But  the  love  that  is  given,  none  taketh  again. 


[55] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


AMORINO 

TT7AS  it  a  mere  caprice  of  mateless  passion? 
So    kind    a    memory    that    could    never 

claim ; 

Our  little  love,  in  quaintly  childish  fashion, 
Was  not  unworthy  of  the  nobler  name. 
Not  the  high  god  who  touches  the  here- 
after, 

Bearing  within  his  bosom  life  and  death, 
But   a   slim   stripling   Eros,   winged   with 

laughter, 

Globing  bright  bubble-moments  with  warm 
breath. 


T3EFORE  the  august  gaze  of  mighty  blisses 
•*^    That   since  have   stooped  to   glorify  our 

clay, 

All  unabashed,  he  juggles  our  past  kisses, 
And  with  a  smile  we  watch  him  at  his  play. 
He  never  masked  in  majesty  forbidden, 

[56] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


AMORINO  (continued) 

Nor  filched  the  due  of  greater  gods  than  he ; 
Wherefore  he  keeps,  in  gentle  mirth  unchid- 

den, 
His  little  share  of  immortality. 


[57] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


w 


SURPRISES 

HEN  through  the  shadow  thou  shalt  see 

Death  smile 
And  greet  him  as  the  sleepless  greet  the 

light, 
When  thou  shalt  close  thine  eyes  a  little 

while 

To  open  them  in  perfectness  of  sight, 
Must  not  thy  quickened  spirit  shrink  for 

shame 

When  touched  by  near  Omniscience  to  con- 
fess 

How  many  blots  of  unexpected  blame 
Sully  thy  life's  apparent  nobleness? 
But  with  the  evil  shall  be  manifest 
Unconscious  virtue  that  from  thee  hath 

sprung; 

Good  unpremeditated  and  unguessed, 
Rich  harvest  of  a  seed  at  random  flung. 
That  hour  of  vision  shall  to  thee  disclose 
My  love  for  thee,  a  wild  heart's  thornless 

rose. 

[58] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


IN  DEEP  PLACES 

T  LOVE  thee,  dear,  and  knowing  mine  own 

heart 

With  every  beat  I  give  God  thanks  for  this ; 
I  love  thee  only  for  the  self  thou  art ; 
No  wild  embrace,  no  wisdom-shaking  kiss, 
No  passionate  pleading  of  a  heart  laid  bare, 
No  urgent  cry  of  love's  extremity  — 
Strong  traps  to  take  the  spirit  unaware  — 
Not  one  of  these  I  ever  had  of  thee. 
Neither  of  passion  nor  of  pity  wrought 
Is  this,  the  love  to  which  at  last  I  yield, 
But  shapen  in  the  stillness  of  my  thought 
And  by  a  birth  of  agony  revealed. 
Here  is  a  thing  to  live  while  we  do  live 
Which  honours  thee  to  take  and  me  to  give. 


[59] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


HIS  SONG  FOR  HER  WAKING 

v  I  ""IS  dawn  in  the  sky  of  the  world, 

'Tis  dawn  in  the  sky  of  my  heart, 
And  earth  is  the  bud  of  a  rose 
Whose  petals  are  trembling  apart; 
So  I  come  to  your  door  in  the  dawn 
And  I  breathe  you  my  life  in  a  word. 
You  would  smile,  you  would  lean  from 

your  window,  my  Queen, 
If  you  heard  —  if  you  heard. 

'T*HE  earth  is  all  throbbing  with  fire 
And  I  am  a  pulse  of  the  flame ; 
All  breathless  the  universe  beats 
Like  a  heart  that  is  tuned  to  your  name, 
As  the  stars  in  their  courses  last  night 
Kept  time  to  each  breath  that  you  drew. 
But  our  passion  is  dumb  —  oh,  my  love,  you 

would  come 
If  you  knew  —  if  you  knew  — 

[60] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


HIS  SONG  FOR  HER  WAKING  (continued) 

VT'OU  would  glow  in  the  flush  of  the  dawn 

You  glitter  so  coldly  above. 
You  would  lean  like  a  rose  to  his  cry 
Who  yearns  to  the  lips  of  your  love. 
You  would  raise  him  who  faints  at  your  feet 
To  a  height  that  his  hope  never  dared.      - 
You  would  warm  the  poor  clod  in  your  arms 

to  a  god  — 
If  you  cared  —  if  you  cared. 


[61] 


IN    DEEP   , PLACES 


THE  NARROW  WAY 

AT  sunset  the  young  monk  leaned  from  the 
**        wall 

To  greet  the  fisher  girl  who  passed  below. 
She  answered  gay  "  Good  even  "  to  his  call, 
But  then  he  sighed,  "  Sunset  or  sunrise  glow 
"  Are  both  alike  to  me ;  ah,  what  of  good 
"  For  one  so  sad,  holds  either  night  or  day?  " 

"  'Tis  twilight  in  the  shadow  of  your  hood  — 
"  Go  pray,  Father  —  go  pray!  " 


44 


TVTY  soul  is  famished  for  the  simple  joys 
IT  A     «<  Free  to  mankind  —  why  not,  alas,  to 

me? 
"The  throbbing  outer  world's  insistent 

noise 

"  Allures  me  like  a  magic  melody. 
"  With  wistfulness  that  warms  to  some- 
thing fonder 

[62] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  NARROW  WAY  (continued) 

"I    hear    the    village    children    at    their 
play." 

"  Their  clamour  could  not  reach  the  chapel 

yonder  — 
"  Go  pray,  Father  —  go  pray" 


VTOU  are  so  sweet  —  Madonna's  eyes  are 

cold  — 
"  Madonna's  lips  have  never  learned  your 

grace. 
"Ah,  smile  again  that  I  may  grow  more 

bold! 
"Why,  hand  in  hand,  should  we  not  flee 

this  place 
"Of  gnawing  discontent  and  barren  sor- 

row? " 

"  Nay,  Father,  that's  a  deadly  sin,  they  say  — 
"Beside.  .  .  .  Uguccio    takes   me  home   to- 
morrow! 

"  Go  pray,  Father  —  go  pray'* 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


THE  END  OF  IT 

'"T"SHE  earth  weighs  down  my  lids  —  they  for- 
get the  feeling  of  tears ; 
The  heavy  clods  on  my  heart  numb  it  to 

pleasure  and  pain, 
And  my  blood  shall  freeze  or  flame  to  your 

mood  as  in  bygone  years 
Never  again,  Beloved  —  never  again. 

T  STROVE  to  see  as  you  saw,  I  strove  to  hear 

as  you  heard, 

I  strove  to  stride  with  your  strength,  catch- 
ing my  labouring  breath, 
And  never  you  slackened  your  speed  to  toss 

me  a  heartening  word  — 
Weary  to  death,  Beloved  —  weary  to  death. 


[64] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  END  OF  IT  (continued) 

TF  you  called  in  the  name  of  our  love,  I  would 
•*•        not  open  mine  eyes ; 
If  you  called  in  the  name  of  my  sorrow,  no 

sigh  would  stir  in  my  breast; 
If  you  called  me  with  God's  own  voice,  I 

would  answer  not  nor  arise, 
Now  that  I  rest,  Beloved  —  now  that  I  rest. 


[65] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


A  MIRACLE 

in  passion  nor  in  play, 
But  dreamily,  half  unaware, 
We  kissed  as  drowsy  children  may, 
Sliding  to  sleep  from  evening  prayer. 
So  brief,  so  calm,  the  passing  touch 
That  meant  so  little  —  and  so  much. 


XOR  memory  sees  the  wondrous  thing 

The  moment  stood  too  near  to  know. 
The  fragile  innocence  of  spring 
I  thought  had  faded  long  ago, 
Our  quiet  lips  found  blossoming  yet 
Like  an  October  violet. 


[66] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


w 


THE  TOYS'  COMPLAINT 

E  sheltered  women,  love-enwrapt, 

Whose  every  wish  is  gratified, 
From  all  adversity  close  lapt 
In  tenderness  and  kindly  pride  — 
We  from  whose  path  you  put  aside 
The  possibility  of  care, 
We  women  shielded  and  supplied  — 
What  burdens  can  we  have  to  bear? 


CMILING  as  at  a  child's  demands 
You  fill  these  idle  days  of  ours; 
You  give  us  roses  for  our  hands 
And  songs  to  sing  among  our  flowers. 
We  twine  you  garlands  of  delight  — 
You  only  ask  to  find  us  fair 
When  weary  you  come  home  at  night. 
Is  not  our  burden  light  to  bear? 


[67] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


THE  TOYS'  COMPLAINT  (continued) 


w 


E  are  the  garden  of  your  ease, 

And  if  we  bloom,  you  are  content. 
It  would  but  rob  you  of  your  peace 
If  to  your  loads  our  shoulders  bent  — 
But  ah,  to  see  you  sad  and  spent! 
To  know  the  pain  we  may  not  share! 
Pity  us,  Masters,  and  relent  — 
This  burden  is  too  great  to  bear. 


[68] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  FORFEIT 

for  this,  dear  heart,  only  for  this 
Do  I  regret 
The  hour  earth  fell  away,  and  left  our  kiss 
A  passionate  star  where  soul  and  body  met. 
Only  for  this,  dear  heart,  only  for  this 
Would  I  —  if  it  were  possible  —  forget. 
For  this  —  that  I  can  never  see  your  eyes 
Without    remembering    their    transfigured 

light 

That  shone  upon  me  then 
As  Love  drew  near  and  took  us  by  surprise. 
That  I  can  never  give  to  you  again 
The  quiet-pulsing  touch  of  friendship  only, 
For  memory   of  your  touch  that  summer 

night. 
I  know  that  you  are  weary,  bruised  and 

lonely, 

Craving  a  comrade's  tranquil  tenderness  — 
But  since  to  give  you  more  I  have  no  right, 

[69] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


THE  FORFEIT  (continued) 

I  needs  must  give  you  less. 

Is  this  the  inevitable  tax  of  pain 

Because  our  love  was  fettered  to  a  lie  — 

That  I  must  see  you  look  to  me  in  vain 

And  never  tell  you  why? 

Once,  only  once,  if  I  might  bring  to  you 

The  comfortable  balm  for  which  you  plead ! 

Once,  only  once,  if  I  might  be  and  do 

All  that  you  need ! 

But  slowly,  surely,  like  a  wall  of  stone, 

Our  parted  lives  more  hopelessly  to  sever, 

Rises  this  barrier  —  to  be  overthrown 

Never. 

Only  for  this,  dear  heart  —  only  for  this 

Do  I  regret.  .  .  . 


[70] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


i 


I  WAS  TOO  PROUD 

WAS  too  proud  to  hazard  all, 

Too  prudent  and  too  wise. 
I  would  not  speak  till  I  could  see 
Surrender  in  her  eyes. 
So  patiently  I  held  my  peace 
And  waited  for  the  sign. 
I  heard  that  she  was  dead,  to-day  — 
She  whispered  at  the  end,  they  say, 
God's  name  .      .  and  mine. 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


TO  A  PRESSED  ROSE 

T    OVELY  faded  rose! 

•"-^     Had   but   my   fortune   beckoned   me 

that  way 

Among  the  silver  stirrings  of  the  day 
That     Nature     for    your    blossom-triumph 

chose ! 

Had  I  but  seen  your  maiden  leaves  unfold 
From   your   immaculate   heart   of   fragrant 

gold! 
I    was    not    there;    another    passed  —  who 

knows 
How  many  others,  lovely  faded  rose? 

And  yet,  had  it  been  I 
Who  came  between  your  crimson  and  the 

sky, 
You  would  have  been  a  rose  among  the 

rest  — 

A  beauty-breathing  joy  upon  my  breast, 
And  then  —  a  rain  of  petals  by  the  way. 

[72] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


TO  A  PRESSED  ROSE  (continued) 

My  thanks  to  God  or  man,  who  chose  to  lay 

Your  glowing  over-sweet 
Within  the  cloistered  calm  of  this  retreat. 
I  would  not  have  you  for  my  wearing  —  no. 
It  had  been  easy  to  forget  you,  so. 
Now  in  my  memory  tenderly  I  close 

A  lovely  faded  rose. 


[73] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


IN  MEMORY  OF  A  DUMB  FRIEND 

OTRANGE    that    so    small   mortality   should 

leave 

So  large  an  emptiness!  for  as  we  grieve 
Your  little  life  of  seven  happy  years 
Ended  for  us,  one  who  could  understand 
Each   subtle   word,   and   answer   hand   with 

hand 
Had  hardly  taken  greater  toll  of  tears. 

V7ET  why  should  we  not  mourn  as  for  a  friend? 
That  name  was  yours;  if  every  man  would 

spend 

His  life  as  well,  earth  were  not  hard  to  save. 
Grant  that  God  made  your  heart  and  brain 

but  small. 

What  more  has  an  archangel  than  his  all? 
And  all  God  gave  to  you,  to  us  you  gave. 


[74] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


TO  A  CHILD 

T    OVE  me,  till  you  learn  to  judge  me, 
With  candid  sweetness  unreserved. 
Your  growing  reason  must  begrudge  me 
The  honour  I  have  not  deserved. 
But  linger  not  to  look  beyond 
When  once  the  kindly  veil  is  torn, 
And  spare  a  heart  that  still  is  fond 
The  torment  of  your  wondering  scorn. 


[75] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


AUNT  JANE 

A  UNT  JANE  has  little  shiny  feet 
•         And  pretty  buttons  in  each  ear; 

She  has  the  nicest  things  to  eat ! 

I  like  to  come  and  visit  here. 

She  has  a  dog  —  his  name  is  Roy ; 

He's  great  —  we  have  a  lot  of  fun. 

She  hasn't  any  little  boy 

And  so  she  has  to  borrow  one. 

TXTY  cousin  Roy  is  very  plain  — 

I  think  he  never  combs  his  hair. 
I  like  him  better  than  Aunt  Jane  — 
She  has  the  kind  of  clothes  that  tear. 
Roy  never  gets  too  tired  to  play  — 
He's  always  jolly  —  anyway, 
I      like      him      better  .  .  .  through      the 

day.  .  .  . 

But  when  he  goes  to  sleep  at  night 
He  doesn't  care  for  me  a  bit. 

[76] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


AUNT  JANE  (continued) 

But  I'm  not  scared  without  a  light, 
Because  Aunt  Jane  comes  in  to  sit 
And  hear  my  prayers,  and  tuck  the  spread 
Around  my  neck,  and  smooth  my  head, — 
And  then  I  don't  care  how  she's  dressed, 
I  know  I  love  Aunt  Jane  the  best. 

UNT  JANE,  of  course,  is  very  old; 

She  must  be  twenty-three  or  four. 
Nothing  I  do  can  make  her  scold, 
Not  even  when  I  bang  the  door. 
The  other  day  it  made  me  cry 
To  think  how  soon  Aunt  Jane  will  die. 


[77] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


o 


LIE  AWAKE  SONGS 


FTEN  when  awake  I  lie 

Listening  to  the  clocks  go  round 
Hours  and  hours,  I  wonder  why 
My  brother  sleeps  so  sound. 


'  I  AHE  city  is  so  kind  to  me; 

It  stays  awake  for  company  — 
It  never  sleeps  at  all. 
Its  lamps  are  always  burning  bright 
From  when  my  mother  says  good-night 
Until  the  milkmen  call. 
The  street  is  always  full  of  wheels, 
Horse-carriages  and  automobiles  — 
The  whole  night  long  they  pass, 
Carrying  home  to  marble  halls 

[78] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


LIE  AWAKE  SONGS  (continued) 

Princesses  that  have  been  to  balls 

In  little  shoes  of  glass. 

Then  there's  the  dog  across  the  way 

He  must  be  dreaming  of  the  day 

Or  barking  at  a  kitty  — 

And  people  talking  as  they  go  .  .  . 

I  often  wonder  do  they  know 

That  I'm  awake  and  like  them  so, 

Or  is  it  just  —  the  City? 


OD  has  a  house  three  streets  away, 
And  every  Sunday,  rain  or  shine, 
My  nurse  goes  there  her  prayers  to  say. 
She's  told  me  of  the  candles  fine 
That  burning  all  night  long  they  keep 
Because  God  never  goes  to  sleep. 
Then  there's  a  steeple  full  of  bells; 
All  through  the  dark  the  time  it  tells. 
I  like  to  hear  it  in  the  night 
And  think  about  those  candles  bright. 
I  wonder  if  God  stays  awake 

[79] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


LIE  AWAKE  SONGS  (continued) 

For  kindness,  like  the  furnace-man 

Who  comes  before  it's  day,  to  make 

Our  house  as  pleasant  as  he  can. 

I  like  to  watch  the  sky  grow  blue 

And  think  perhaps  the  whole  world  through 

No  one's  awake  but  just  us  three, — 

God  and  the  furnace-man  and  me. 


[80] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


A  POET 

TTIS  lips  have  been  hallowed  with  flame; 

•*"*•     By  pain  they  are  pure  to  repeat 
The  wonderful  whispers  of  God 
That  speak  in  the  hush  of  his  soul; 
Yet  if  we  would  trace  where  he  trod 
Toward  the  glorious  lure  of  his  goal, 
In  what  bitter  byways  of  shame 
Are  the  prints  of  his  wandering  feet! 

TTIS  eyes  have  the  light  of  the  stars 

Whose  secrets  they  search  unafraid. 
For  him  the  great  mystery  wakes 
To  beauty  whose  vision  is  power; 
But  his  face  is  disfigured  with  scars 
That  warfare  ignoble  has  made, 
And  idly  his  carelessness  breaks 
A  heart  like  the  stem  of  a  flower. 


[81] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


A  POET  (continued) 

A  ND  yet,  to  far  valleys  forlorn 

Where  saints  without  aureole  grope 
To  garland  the  altars  of  light 
In  a  blindness  of  patience  and  prayer, 
Like  the  shout  of  a  trumpet  is  borne 
The  vision  that  flashed  on  his  sight, 
And  they  hear  in  their  twilight  of  hope, 
A  triumph  of  dawn  in  the  air. 

A  LL  are  but  parts  of  the  Whole. 

He  laboureth  never  in  vain 
Who  chose  in  marred  vessels  of  clay 
To  light  the  unquenchable  spark. 
The  seer  who  fell  by  the  way  — 
The  steadfast,  uncomforted  soul  — 
God,  who  gave  birth  to  the  twain, 
Is  joining  their  hands  in  the  dark. 


[82] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


T 


A  MINOR  POET 

HE  firefly,  flickering  about 

In  busy  brightness,  near  and  far 
Lets  not  his  little  lamp  go  out 
Because  he  cannot  be  a  star. 
He  only  seeks,  the  hour  he  lives, 
Bravely  his  tiny  part  to  play, 
And  all  his  being  freely  gives 
To  make  a  summer  evening  gay. 


[83] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ONE  OF  MANY 

CO  ME  sing  among  the  trumpets  in  the  fray  — 
Such  breathless  glory  hers  might  never  be ; 
Her  heart  and  voice  were  all  too  gentle-gray 
For  such  high  psalmody. 

OUT  she  could  croon  a  little  child  to  sleep, 
And  whisper  in  the  twilight  to  a  maid 
Who  felt  within  her  heart  the  springtime 

leap  — 
Half-joyous,  half-afraid. 

OHE  knew  no  ringing  war-cry  for  the  strong; 
Her    voice    no    latent    might    to    action 

charmed ; 

But  silent  rallied  to  her  soothing  song 
The  fallen,  the  disarmed. 


[84] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ONE  OF  MANY  (continued) 


N 


OR  rose  nor  laurel  to  her  burial  bring  — 
Above  her  let  the  green  sod  simply  close. 

Some  day,  from  that  forgotten  mound  may 

spring 
A  laurel  —  or  a  rose. 


[85] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


WHOM  THE  GODS  LOVE 


me  thy  youth,   give  me  thy  urgent 
youth; 
Thy  youth  to  me,  who  know  not  youth  nor 

age. 

For  those  who  serve  me  I  have  little  ruth; 
My  flaying  scourge  shall  be  thine  only  wage, 
And  yet  I  call  thee  from  the  easy  way 
Knowing,  despite  thy  fear,  thou  wilt  obey. 
Give  me  thy  youth. 


me  thy  heart,  give  me  thy  passionate 

heart; 
Thy  heart  to  me,  who  know  not  love  nor 

hate. 

Thy  flesh  may  be  a  garment  rent  apart, 
Thy  soul  may  shiver  bare  and  desolate, 
But  though  the  snug  hearth  beckon  thy  de- 

sire, 

Me  thou  shalt  follow  from  the  lesser  fire. 
Give  me  thy  heart. 

[86] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


WHOM  THE  GODS  LOVE  (continued) 


me  thy  life,  no  less  —  thy  human  life; 
Thy  life  to  me  who  know  not  death  nor 

birth, 

And  I  will  give  thee  hungering  and  strife, 
The  empty  praise  and  mockery  of  earth, 
And  at  the  last  I  will  give  thee,  even  I, 
One  boon  supreme  —  the  readiness  to  die. 
Give  me  thy  life. 


[87] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


T 


THE  GUEST 

HOU  who  tarriest  at  my  gate, 
Pass  along  the  sunny  street. 
Do  faces  marred  as  mine  is,  wait 
With  smiles  a  guest  to  greet? 


T    OVE,  who  touched  my  lips  with  fire, 

Sadly  smiling,  granted  me 
The  fulness  of  my  fool's  desire  — 
A  scar  for  all  to  see. 


T)  ASS  —  thou  knowest  I  do  not  dare 
From  my  toil  mine  eyes  to  raise 
Lest  I  see  thee  standing  there 
As  in  those  other  days. 


B 


ALEFUL  Guest,  hast  thou  not  wrought 

All  thy  will  of  evil  yet? 
Hast  forgot  thy  scar,  that  naught 
Can  soothe  me  to  forget? 

[88] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  GUEST  (continued) 

/^•HILD,  lay  by  thy  bitterness  — 
Evil  would  I  work  thee  none 
Rather  would  I  bid  thee  bless 
What  cannot  be  undone. 


YES  grown  soft  with  many  a  tear 

Are  not  hasty  to  be  hard, 
And  comfort  speaks  to  shame  and  fear 
Through  lips  my  fire  hath  scarred. 


D 


O  not  fear  to  lift  thine  eyes, 

Do  not  fear  to  ope  thy  door. 
Thou  shalt  know  my  Paradise 
Who  knewest  my  Hell  of  yore. 


T 


IS  the  narrow  hearts  that  break 

And  in  breaking  stand  confessed 
Happier  so,  if  thus  they  make 
The  Greater  Love  their  guest. 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  UNBORN 

VROM  the  Unseen  I  come  to  you  to-night, 

The  Hope  and  Expectation  of  your  world. 
I  am  Omniscience  that  seeks  of  you 
A  tongue  to  utter  the  eternal  thought. 
I  am  Omnipotence  that  claims  of  you 
The   tools   whereby  my  power  may   profit 

earth. 

All  Love  am  I,  that  seeks  to  spend  itself 
Embodied  in  a  human  sacrament, 
For  I  have  heard  the  wailing  of  the  world, 
Not  faint  and  far  away  as  in  a  dream, 
But  very  near  —  and  lo,  I  understood 
It  need  not  be.    Wherefore  I  come  to  you. 


o 


YOU  to  whom  my  tenderness  goes  out, 
To  whom  I  fain  would  bring  an  end  of 

groans 

And    blind,    bewildered    tears,    a    cloudless 
dawn 

[90] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  UNBORN  (continued) 

Of  unimagined  joy  and  strength  unguessed, 
What   welcome   will   you   give   to   me,   O 

World? 

Since  I  whose  dwelling  is  the  universe 
Will  stoop  to  walls  and  rafters  for  your  sake, 
What  is  the  home  you  have  prepared  for  me? 
O  Men  and  Women,  is  it  beautiful, 
A  place  of  peace,  a  house  of  harmony? 
Will  you  be  glad,  who  know  me  as  I  am, 
To  see  me  make  my  habitation  there? 
Since  I  will  hamper  my  divinity 
With  weight   of  mortal  raiment  for  your 

sake, 

What  vesture  have  you  woven  for  my  wear? 
O  Man  and  Woman  who  have  fashioned  it 
Together,  is  it  fine  and  clean  and  strong, 
Made  in  such  reverence  of  holy  joy, 
Of  such  unsullied  substance,  that  your  hearts 
Leap  with  glad  awe  to  see  it  clothing  me, 
The  glory  of  whose  nakedness  you  know? 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  UNBORN  (continued) 

long  long  silence  of  the  wakening  years! 
Thus  have  I  called  since  man  took  shape 

as  man; 

Thus  will  I  call  till  all  mankind  shall  heed 
And  know  me,  who  to-day  am  one  with  God, 
And  whom  to-morrow   shall  behold,   your 
child. 

From  the  Unseen  I  come  to  you  to-night.  .  .  . 


[92] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


NEW  LIFE 

OPRING  comes  laughing  down  the  valley 

All  in  white,  from  the  snow 
Where  the  winter's  armies  rally 

Loth  to  go. 

Beauty  white  her  garments  shower 
On  the  world  where  they  pass, — 
Hawthorn  hedges,  trees  in  flower, 
Daisies  in  the  grass. 
Tremulous  with  longings  dim, 
Thickets  by  the  river's  rim 
Have  begun  to  dream  of  green. 
Every  tree  is  loud  with  birds. 
Bourgeon,  heart, —  do  thy  part ! 
Raise  a  slender  stalk  of  words 
From  a  root  unseen. 


[93] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  STANDARD  BEARER 

O  WIFTLY  the  shrieking  fire-bird  gleams 

Before  his  blank,  bewildered  face. 
Close  to  his  ear  the  bullet  screams, 
The  battle  swirls  about  his  place. 


/~\ 


thought  alone  stands  clear  to  him 
Whose  rigid  arms  the  Standard  keep, 
Before  whose  desperate  eyes  and  dim 
The  ranks  reel  by  as  seen  in  sleep, 

/"\NE  longing  —  in  the  orchard  lane, 
^^^     Far  from  this  blazing  blare  of  death, 
To  stand  at  twilight  once  again 
And  draw  one  deep,  untroubled  breath. 


[94] 


IN    DEEP     PLACES 


THE  DOUBLE  CROWNING 

T    AVISH  roses  carpeted  the  ways  for  him; 
•      Noiseless  beat  his  charger's  feet,  passing 
through  the  town. 

Lavish  banners  made  the  walls  ablaze  for 
him, 

Dancing  like  his  young  blue  eyes  beneath  the 
golden  crown. 

From  every  crowded  alley  there  surged  into 
the  street 

A  sweep  of  lifted  faces,  a  wave  of  living  foam. 

Silken  sleeves  of  maidens  caressed  his  ar- 
moured feet ; 

All  the  bells  were  shouting  when  the  king 
came  home. 


[95] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  DOUBLE  CROWNING  (continued) 

OILENT,  smitten,  gazed  he  o'er  the  press  of 

them 
Where  upon  the  market-place  the  Crucified 

looked  down. 

Silent,  smiting,  fell  beyond  the  guess  of  them 
The  shadow  of  the  Crown  of  Thorns  across 

the  golden  crown. 
Beyond  the  shimmering  banners  he  saw  the 

walls  of  stone, 
Below  the  trampled  flowers  the  streets  that 

had  run  red, 
And  heavy  fell  upon  him  the  burden  of  his 

throne  — 

Amid  the  sheaves  of  gladness  the  harvest  of 
the  dead. 


[96] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


THE  DOUBLE  CROWNING  (continued) 

T>  UTHLESS  ages  took  that  hour  their  toll  of 
**>  him. 

All  the  joyous  clamour  of  his  people  could 
not  drown 

Ruthless  ages  crying  to  the  soul  of  him, 

"  Evermore  the  Crown  of  Thorns  beneath 
the  golden  crown !  " 

The  heedless  merry  city,  that  trod  its  blos- 
somed floor, 

The  rainbow  of  the  banners,  the  drunken 
bells  aswing, 

The  brave  blue  eyes  whose  boyhood  was 
gone  forevermore, 

The  shouting  of  the  people  —  the  silence  of 
the  king! 


[97] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


BEAUTY 

T3LESSED  be  Beauty,  that  awaits 

Our  vision  at  our  very  gates ! 
There  hangs  above  these  meadows  low 
As  richly  strange  an  opal  glow 
As  deepens  into  violet 
Behind  a  Moorish  minaret, 
Or  where  the  Sphinx  outstares  the  years. 
The  little  hills  of  Ramapo 
Smile  eastward  full  as  goldenly 
When  fades  the  last  supplanted  star 
As  mighty  mountains,  rising  far 
Beyond  the  leagues  of  sapphire  sea 
That  cradle  white  Algiers. 

TDLESSED  be  God  who  gave  to  me 

A  thankful  heart  and  eyes  that  see, 
Who  set  my  feet  in  quiet  ways 
Amid  his  garden  sweet  with  praise. 
And  yet  —  oh  Father !  what  of  them 

[98] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


BEAUTY  (continued) 

Who  may  not  even  touch  the  hem 
Of  Beauty's  robe  —  at  the  harsh  urge 
Of  hopeless  pain  and  poverty 
Forever  plying  weary  hands, 
Forever  straining  weary  eyes, 
To  whom  the  sun's  ecstatic  rise 
Means  one  day  more  of  toil's  demands 
The  lifting  of  the  scourge? 

A  ND  yet,  once  more  —  a  Beauty  lies 

Beyond  the  gaze  of  any  eyes, 
Beyond  the  sunset  islands  far, 
Above  the  throbbing  morning-star, 
And  deeper  than  the  sea  is  deep. 
I  have  beheld,  as  one  in  sleep 
Beholds  a  dream  scarce  understood, 
Two  lives  defaced  as  failures  are, 
Ruins  to  pity  and  despise, 
Maimed  butts  of  fortune,  best  forgot. 
These  captives  of  the  sordid  lot 
Looked  in  each  other's  faded  eyes 
And  all  their  world  was  good. 

[99] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  SACRIFICE 

T)ALE  lips  that  trembled  under  mine 

She  brought  to  me. 
A  love  less  human  than  divine 
They  taught  to  me. 
But  now  too  fixedly  they  smile, — 
Too  ruddily  — 

Set,  like  a  vampire's,  to  beguile 
Men  bloodily. 

'TpHOUGH  time  has  graven  on  her  brow 

No  change  to  me, 
The  eyes  she  turns  upon  me  now 
Are  strange  to  me. 

Ah,  dear  lost  love,  what  fiend  has  caught 
The  soul  of  you, 
That  in  our  happy  days  I  thought 
The  whole  of  you? 


[100] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


THE  SACRIFICE  (continued) 

A  LAS,  'twas  I,  to  whom  she  gave 
^^    Too  royally. 

She  loved  me  from  my  living  grave 

Too  loyally. 

Heedless  of  all  that  might  befall, 

The  cost  to  her 

Unreckoning,  she  gave  me  all 

That's  lost  to  her. 

OHE  bears  the  burden  of  the  sin 

Once  bound  on  me. 
She  takes  the  rags  to  wrap  her  in 
She  found  on  me. 
Thou  God  of  Justice,  I  have  lost 
The  way  to  her. 
Take  thou  my  life,  and  all  it  cost 
Repay  to  her! 


[101] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


H 


H 


THE  LAME  CHILD 

E  passed  along  our  village  street ; 

The  fame  of  him  had  gone  before 
And  many  ran  on  whispering  feet 
To  mock  or  wonder  or  appeal. 
I  caught  my  child  from  where  he  lay 
And  stood  expectant  at  the  door. 
Many  the  sick  he  healed  that  day, 
But  mine  he  did  not  heal. 

E  paused  before  us  where  we  stood 

And  looked  into  my  boy's  blue  eyes  - 
Those  eyes  of  tortured  babyhood 
Questioning  life  with  hurt  surprise. 
It  would  have  taken  but  a  word 
To  make  the  future  sweet  and  clear  — 
Many  the  prayers  that  day  he  heard, 
But  mine  he  did  not  hear. 


[102] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


THE  LAME  CHILD  (continued) 

\7ET  this  he  did  -—  his  head  he  bent 
A       And  kissed  my  child  upon  the  cheek. 
He  turned  upon  me,  as  he  went, 
Eyes  that  were  wonderful  with  tears. 
Silent  I  shrank  before  the  deeps 
Of  mysteries  too  great  to  speak  — 
But  oh,  my  patient  son  who  creeps 
Along  his  crippled  years! 


[103] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


M 


A 


GYPSY-HEART 

Y  grandsire  was  a  vagabond 

Who  made  the  Road  his  bride. 
He  left  his  son  a  wanderer's  heart 
And  little  enough  beside ; 
And  all  his  life  my  father  heard 
The  fluting  of  a  hidden  bird 
That  lured  him  on  from  hedge  to  hedge 
To  walk  the  world  so  wide. 

ND  now  he  walks  the  worlds  beyond 

And  drifts  on  hidden  seas 
Undesecrated  by  a  chart  — 
Blithe  derelict  at  ease. 
And  sometimes  when  I  halt  at  night, 
In  answer  to  my  campfire's  light 
His  own  uplifts  a  glowing  wedge 
Among  the  Pleiades. 


[104] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


GYPSY-HEART  (continued) 


w 


OMEN  are  fair  but  all  too  fond; 

Home  holds  a  man  too  fast. 
I'll  choose  for  mine  a  freeman's  part 
And  sing  as  I  go  past. 
No  lighted  windows  beckon  me, 
The  open  sky  my  canopy. 
I'll  camp  upon  Creation's  edge, 
A  wanderer  to  the  last. 


[105] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  VAGABOND  GROWN  OLD 

1O  warm  the  lighted  windows  glow 

Across  the  darkness  and  the  snow  — 
The  trodden  road,  the  sodden  road, 
The  road  wherein  I  chose  to  go. 


T 


HE  winter  skies  are  steely  gray  — 

The  winter  stars  are  far  away. 
Light  were  my  feet  when  winds  were  sweet, 
But  bitter  going's  mine  to-day. 


'ET  as  I  trudge,  I  needs  must  sing, 

For  be  he  vagabond  or  king, 
A  man  must  choose  what  he  will  lose  — 
And  I  have  known  the  road  in  spring. 


[106] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  NIGHT 

T>LAME  us  not,  ah,  blame  us  not,  ye  folk  who 

love  the  sun, 
Whose  longings   haunt  the   fields  at   noon, 

the  ingleside  at  night; 
For  we  are  of  another  blood  and  feel  our 

pulses  run 
As  run  the  tides  to  meet  the  moon  and  leap 

beneath  her  light. 

TTT'E  sit  beside  your  hearth-stones  with  our 
faces  to  the  fire, 

But  our  hearts  within  are  straitened  —  (do 
ye  ever  understand?) 

For  we  long  to  turn  away  —  yet  dare  not 
yield  to  the  desire  — 

Where  the  moonlight  at  the  window  beck- 
ons, beckons  like  a  hand. 


[107] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  NIGHT  (continued) 


household  phrases  come  to  us  as  in  a 

tongue  unknown. 
We  gaze  at  you  unseeing,  for  our  thoughts 

are  far  away 
Like  scattered  flakes  of  star-dust  on  the  fly- 

ing cloud-rack  blown 
Beyond  the  placid  vision  of  the  children  of 

the  day. 


"13  LAME  us  not,  ye  quiet  ones  who  crouch  be- 

side the  flame 
And  rule  it  as  ye  rule  your  souls,  with  meas- 

ured, tranquil  hand. 
Nay,  but  my  words  are  idle.     Give  us  neither 

praise  nor  blame, 
Only  be  blind  forever,  since  ye  cannot  under- 

stand. 


[108] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE 

"DECAUSE   I   dreamed   with  open  eyes  and 

watched  the  stars  at  night, 
Because   I  loved  the  forest  and  wandered 

there  alone, 
The  Little  Faery  People  that  mock  at  human 

might 
They  set  a  spell  upon  me  and  chose  me  for 

their  own. 

/~lpHE  Little  People  told  me  of  a  country 
strange  and  sweet  — 

Builded  with  words  of  beauty  I  saw  its  tow- 
ers rise; 

But  I  knew  my  mother  listened  for  the  com- 
ing of  my  feet  — 

In  tears  the  vision  darkened  and  vanished 
from  mine  eyes. 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE  (continued) 

/TSHE  Little  People  bade  me  choose  —  to  cast 
with  them  my  lot, 

Or  nevermore  to  see  them  for  mine  own  kin- 
dred's sake. 

Their  deep  eyes  yearned  upon  me,  but  I 
could  heed  them  not. 

My  people  were  my  people  —  what  choice 
was  mine  to  make? 

1V/TY  people  are  my  people  and  dear  they  are 

to  me; 
Yet    sometimes    comes    a    longing    till    I 

hardly  dare  to  pray, 
For  that  far  land  of  wonder  that  I  shall 

never  see 
And  for  the  Little  People  from  whom  I 

turned  away. 


[no] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


H 


HERE  STOOD  A  HOUSE 

ERE  stood  a  house ;  we  now  can  only  guess 
From  what  scant  lore  the  bare  foundation 
yields 

The  building's  fashion,  whose  calm  comeli- 
ness 

Complacent  looked  across  the  fruitful  fields, 

This  was  a  home  —  now  fire  has  laughed 
and  fled 

Leaving  a  wreck  instead. 


T 


HIS    was    a    home    for    human    comfort 

raised  — 

Now  the  shy  creatures  of  the  air  and  grass 
Nest  in  the  blackened  pit  and  start  amazed 
If  any  human  foot  too  near  them  pass. 
Merciless  tranquil  Nature  takes  again 
The  land  she  lent  to  men. 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


HERE  STOOD  A  HOUSE  (continued) 

"DUT  pity  not  this  house,  for  while  it  stood 
Its  walls  were  warm  with  comfort  and  en- 
shrined 
Glad  hearts  that  savoured  life  and  found  it 

good. 

It  was  a  temple  of  the  quiet  mind. 
Its  very  altar's  consecrated  glow 
Has  wrought  its  overthrow. 


HE 


RE  was  no  shameful  torture  of  decay ; 

The  vivid  end  with  sudden  glory  came. 
In  terrible  beauty  all  was  swept  away, 
Man's  dearest  art  translated  into  flame. 
So  swift  and  shining  may  thy  coming  be, 
Enlightening  Death,  to  me. 


[112] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


THE  CRICKET  IN  THE  PATH 

CHE  passed  through  the  shadowy  garden,  so 

tall  and  so  white, 

Her  eyes  on  the  stars  and  her  face  like  an  an- 
gel's upturned, 

And  it  seemed  to  my  thought  that  the  dusk 
round  her  head  with  the  light 
Of  an  aureole  burned. 

"DUT  where  she  had  trodden  unseeing,  I  found 

on  the  path 
A  cricket,  so  frail  that  her  light  foot  had 

maimed  it,  yet  strong 

To  valiantly  pipe,  tiny  hero,  a  faint  aftermath 
Of  its  yesterday  song. 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  CRICKET  IN  THE  PATH  (continued) 

A  ND  I  whispered,  "  Alas,  Little  Brother,  why 
r*        must  it  befall 

That  the  passing  of  angels  but  cripples  and 

leaves  us  to  die? 

Poor  imp  of  the  greensward,  God  trumpets 
me  clear  in  thy  call ; 

Thou  art  braver  than  I. 


Bright  Ones  of  Heaven  have  trodden 
me  down  as  they  passed; 

I  crawl  in  their  footsteps  a  trampled  and 
impotent  thing. 

I  know  not  the  reason,  nor  question  hence- 
forth.    To  the  last, 

While  I  live,  I  will  sing." 


[114] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


H 


THREE  WOMEN 

FIAMMETTA 

ER  speech  like  a  tame  serpent  hisses ; 
She  glows  like  a  flower  of  the  south ; 
The  bruises  of  yesterday's  kisses 
Are  purple  to-day  on  her  mouth. 
Time  bears  from  her  beauty  no  plunder 
Nor  kindles  a  soul  in  her  eyes ; 
And  to-morrow  —  what  is  there,  I  wonder, 
To  live  when  she  dies? 


[115] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THREE  WOMEN  (continued) 


SYLVIA 

TN  the  twilight  was  her  birth 

Of  a  passion  and  a  prayer; 
Half  of  heaven,  half  of  earth, 
Kin  to  wildlings  of  the  air. 
Finely  tuned  to  joy  and  pain, 
At  a  breath  her  mind  will  stir; 
Love  may  hurt  his  hands  in  vain 
At  the  doorless  heart  of  her. 
Like  an  opal,  fair  with  flaws, 
Rarely  blessed,  darkly  cursed, 
She  was  made  in  scorn  of  laws, 
Not  quite  human  from  the  first. 


[xx6] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THREE  WOMEN  (continued) 


CISTER  is  she  to  woodlands  deep 

And  quiet-bosomed  noonday  skies; 
To  calm,  encircling  leagues  of  sea 
Unfathomed  in  serenity. 
Not  over-quick  to  laugh  or  weep 
Are  the  clear  candours  of  her  eyes. 
The  still,  unboasting  strength  is  hers 
That  stays  the  immemorial  hills. 
Comfort  and  cheer  her  presence  lays 
Like  footprints  all  along  her  ways; 
The  simplest  of  Love's  ministers, 
Unconscious  what  a  place  she  fills. 


[117] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


A 


THE  CHILD  IN  BLACK 

in  the  street  the  children  play; 
They  shout  and  laugh  till  I  come  by, 
Then  they  are  still  and  go  away  — 
I  wonder  why. 

ND  grown-up  people's  faces  too  — 
Until  they  see  me,  they  are  glad. 
I  wonder  what  it  is  I  do 

That  turns  them  sad. 


A 


ND  father  —  when  he  looks  at  me 
He  is  sad  too,  and  though  he  tries 
To  wink  them  back,  I  always  see 
Tears  in  his  eyes. 


looks  at  me  the  same 
Since  mother  went  to  Heaven  to  stay. 
Do  they  think  I  am  to  blame 
For  sending  her  away? 

[1x8] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ON  A  HILL-TOP 

the  ascent  to  which  we  laughing  bent; 
O     Slowly  we  left  the  weary  slope  behind. 
Now  hand  in  hand  upon  the  crest  we  stand 
Amid  the  shouting  welcome  of  the  wind. 

T  TOO  rejoice  with  its  exultant  voice 

That  we  upon  this  hill-top  once  have  stood 
Before  we  die,  together,  you  and  I, 
To  see  our  world  and  know  that  it  is  good. 


T 


O  find  the  worth  of  this  perplexing  earth 

Which  yet  is  of  our  heaven  the  only  gate ; 
Where  life  must  be  ere  immortality 
Can  its  transfiguration  consummate. 


["9] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ON  A  HILL-TOP  (continued) 


T 


HE  test  we  need  ere  spirit  may  succeed 
To     perfect     power     and     unimagined 

scope  — 
Where  dreams  untried  must  ever  dreams 

abide 
And  hopeless  is  the  unattempted  hope. 


w 


H 


E  who  have  caught  the  substance  of  our 
thought 

May  smile  triumphant  though  our  path- 
ways part. 

You  of  my  best  forever  stand  possessed, 

And  greater  for  your  greatness  is  my  heart. 

ENCE  we  shall  turn  more  eager  to  discern 
The  hid  Shekinah  of  our  neighbour's  soul, 
Stronger  to  dare  our  brief  blind  part  to  bear 
In  the  slow  silent  growth  of  God's  great 
Whole. 


[120] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


ON  A  HILL-TOP  (continued) 

A    WORD,  the  flower  of  this  uplifted  hour 
Shall  turn  the  chill  of  time  and  space  to 
mirth ; 
A  deed  that  springs  from  these  forgotten 

things 

Shall   link   us   yet   across   the   breadth   of 
earth  — 

OHALL  link  us  yet,  although  we  may  forget. 
Our  thoughts  may  pass,  our  inmost  selves 

endure. 
Yea,  life  and  death  may  come  and  go  like 

breath  — 

Wrought  in  our  souls,  this  moment  lives  se- 
cure. 


[121] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


DAWN 

bud  of  dawn 

That  shyly  in  the  east  now  dost  unfold 
The  glowing  garments  of  thy  heart  of  gold, 
I  look  to  thee  across  the  shadowy  lawn 
Hoary  with  dew. 

Purged  by  clean  slumber  as  a  soul  by  death 
I  lift  my  brow  to  meet  thy  blessed  breath. 
All  hail,  thou  messenger  of  Him  who  saith, 
"  Lo,  I  make  all  things  new." 


T 


HE  early  breeze 

Quickens  to  sudden  whispering  all  the 

trees; 

The  orchard  yeomen  in  their  sturdy  ranks, 
The  slender  cedars  halted  on  the  flanks 
Of  every  hill,  the  copse's  quivering  green  — 
Even  the  height  serene 
Of  the  old  hemlocks  is  a  moment  stirred 
As  if  among  their  aged  boughs  they  heard 

[122] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


DAWN  (continued) 

The  magic  murmur  of  that  master-word 
Thou    daily    speakst    man's    weariness    to 

cheer, 
O  Dawn  —  would  man  but  hear. 

SIGN  from  Heaven  long  ago  men  sought, 
And  he  to  whom  their  questionings  were 

brought 

Marvelled  in  sadness ;  how  should  even  he 
Give  signs  to  them  who  had  no  eyes  to  see? 
Dear  God,  how  blindly  do  thy  children  trace 
This  marvellous  earth-manuscript  of  thine! 
Weary  of  study,  we  are  baffled  yet 
By  the  great  lessons  for  our  learning  set, 
And  clamour  eagerly  with  lifted  face 
To  Heaven  for  a  sign. 


T 


HERE  shall  no  sign  be  given, 

For  we  are  hedged  with  portents  undi- 

vined. 

God  waits  until  the  fetters  of  the  mind 
At  last  be  riven. 
And  as  we  grope 

[123] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


DAWN  (continued) 

Amid  the  growing  glory,  we  behold 

The  Dawn's  recurrent  miracle  unfold 

The  heavenly  word  for  hope. 

The  clouds  of  yesterday, 

Although  they  smother  all  the  blue,  avail 

No  whit  the  mounting  of  the  sun  to  stay, 

Who  like  a  strong  young  king  in  golden 

mail 

Leaps  up  behind  the  gray. 
Earth,  air,  and  sea  may  rage  in  mortal  strife 
But  calmly  certain,  over  death  and  life 
Rises  the  still,  unconquerable  Day. 
And  so  shall  Man  arise 
From  sullen-clotted  clouds  of  past  mistake, 
Sorrow  and  disappointment,  and  awake 
With  some  indomitable  dawn,  to  break 
The  seal  of  Paradise. 


[124] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


THE  HERO 

'  I  VHEY  asked  him  for  his  story,  when  he  came 
Battered  and  glorious  from  the  floating 

hell 

Where  he  had  wrung  his  victory  from  death. 
But  he,  the  hero,  had  no  tale  to  tell  — 
Simply  he  gave  them  answer,  with  a  smile 
That  made  them  flinch  and  take  a  quicker 

breath  — 

"  I  only  know  we  worked  in  sweat  and  flame 
"  And  it  was  well  worth  while." 


you  shall  stand   some   day,  amazed  and 
faint 

Among  the  wondering  angels,  file  on  file 
Of  beautiful  bright  faces,  all  ablaze 
With    your    achievement,    vivid    with    your 

praise, 

Asking  of  you,  their  bleeding  warrior-saint, 
Your  own  triumphant  tale  of  battle  won. 

[125] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


THE  HERO  (continued) 

And  you,  who  knew  not  all  that  you  had 

done, 

Shall  gaze  bewildered  on  them,  reeling  yet 
From  those  long  years  of  mortal  weariness. 
No  hope  of  this  upheld  you  in  the  stress  — 
You  only  knew  you  wrought  in  blood  and 

sweat, 
And  it  was  well  worth  while. 


[126] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


IMMORTAL 

TDECAUSE  your  hand 

Grew  tired  and  laid  the  busy  brush 

aside; 
Because    your    weary    eyes    forewent    their 

sight, 

Shall  none  of  all  the  pictures  you  had  planned 
Take  form  and  colour  for  the  world's  de- 
light— 

Because  you  died? 


hope  that  kept 
Through  patient  years  of  uncon- 

genial toil 

Your  spirit's  lamp  sustained  with  sacred  oil, 
The  dream  and  the  desire  that  never  slept  — 
Did  all  the  wonder-world  that  was  your  art 
Stop  with  your  heart? 


[127] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


IMMORTAL  (continued) 

A    TIME  so  brief 

After  your  long  probation,  to  de- 
clare 
Your  hoarded   visions  —  strangely  hard   it 

seems! 

Is  even  God  so  rich  beyond  belief 
That  he  from  his  eternity  could  spare 
Your  waiting  dreams? 

TTE  does  not  waste. 

•*•        A  thought  once  born,  forevermore 

must  live. 

Bountiful  spirit,  that  so  loved  to  give, 
With  what  a  high  delight  you  now  dispense 
In  glorious  largess,  without  stint  or  haste, 
Your  opulence! 


[128] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


IMMORTAL  (continued) 

T  SEE  you  guide 

The  hand  of  some  young  painter  to 

reveal 

The  truth  you  lived  so  many  years  to  feel, 
Your  joy  in  his  achievement  doubly  deep. 
Your  joy  .  .  .  ah,  how  have  we  the  heart  to 
weep 

Because  you  died? 


[  129] 


IN     DEEP    PLACES 


TO  WALTER  SCOTT 

MELROSE 

TTOW  often  has  he  lingered  here  alone 

In  such  a  golden  evensong  of  spring, 
Making  the  eye-sweet  melody  of  stone 
More  lovely  by  his  words'  accompanying  — 
Singing  for  very  youth  of  heart,  compelled 
By  the  keen  urge  of  beauty,  even  as  now 
Tweed  sings  along  the  valley,  April-swelled, 
While  the  green  slopes  flush  slowly  to  the 
plow. 


[130] 


IN    DEEP    PLACES 


T 


ABBOTSFORD 

HIS  dream  come  true  in  quaintly  towered 

stone, 

This  palace  of  desire's  accomplishment, 
Here  in  his  thought  already  had  he  known 
A  sunset  calm  of  richly  earned  content, 
When  a  harsh  clarion  summoned  him  to 

fight 

In  sordid  lists,  to  purge  another's  shame. 
Harp-hearted,  he  rang  true,  and  proved  him 

knight 

Of  that  high  chivalry  who  reck  not  fame, 
Being  content  to  stand  with  shield  unstained 
Before  God's  face.     Crown  with  a  nation's 

meed 
The  Bard  —  but  here,  where  patient  and 

constrained 

He  toiled,  when  he  had  hoped  to  soar  in- 
deed, 

Humbled,  be  still.     His  victory  is  gained 
And  of  earth's  wordy  praise  there  is  no  need. 

[131] 


IN     DEEP     PLACES 


H 


DRYBURGH 

ERE  lies  his  battered  armour,  hacked  and 

scarred 
By   the    long   conflict.     Look,   what    fitter 

place 

To  hold  the  garb  so  honourably  marred! 
Green  house  of  sleep,  from  which  the  years 

efface 

One  after  one,  man's  futile  traceries, 
As  one  by  one  frail  children  of  the  pen 
Faint  slowly  to  forgotten  silences. 
Naught  is  immortal  but  the  God  in  men. 


[132] 


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